UC-NRLF 


A  STORY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


THE  MOOSE  WAS  NOW  SNORTING  LIKE  A  WAR-HORSE  BENEATH. 

(See  page  274.) 


CAMP    AND    TRAIL 


A  Story  of  the  Maine  Woods 


BY 

ISABEL/  HORNIBROOK 

AUTHOR    OF    "  TUKE,"    "  IN    THE  SERVICE,"    "  LOST   IN    MAINE    WOODS,"    ETC. 


BOSTON 
LOTHROP  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1897, 

BY 
LOTHROP  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


TYPOGRAPHY    BY    C.    J.    PETERS   &   SON,    BOSTON. 
PRESSWOKK    BY    BERWICK   &   SMITH. 


TO 


J.   L    H 


PREFACE. 


IN  adding  another  to  the  list  of  stories 
bearing  on  that  subject  of  perennial  inter 
est  to  boys,  adventures  in  camp  and  on  trail 
among  the  woods  and  lakes  of  Northern 
Maine,  one  thought  has  been  the  inspiration 
that  led  me  on. 

It  is  this  :  To  prove  to  high-mettled  lads, 
American,  and  English  as  well,  that  forest 
quarters,  to  be  the  most  jovial  quarters  on 
earth,  need  not  be  made  a  shambles.  Sensa 
tion  may  reach  its  finest  pitch,  excitement  be 
an  unfailing  fillip,  and  fun  the  leaven  which 
leavens  the  camping-trip  from  start  to  finish, 
even  though  the  triumph  of  killing  for  tri 
umph's  sake  be  left  out  of  the  play-bill. 

4  There  is  a  higher  sport  in  preservation 
than  in  destruction,"  says  a  veteran  hunter, 
whose  forest  experiences  and  descriptions 
have  in  part  enriched  this  story.  I  commend 
the  opinion  to  boy-readers,  trusting  that  they 
may  become  "  queer  specimen  sportsmen," 
after  the  pattern  of  Cyrus  Garst  ;  and  find  a 

3 


4  Preface. 

more  entrancing  excitement  in  studying  the 
live  wild  things  of  the  forest  than  in  gloating 
over  a  dying  tremor,  or  examining  a  sense 
less  mass  of  horn,  hide,  and  hoofs,  after  the 
life-spring  which  worked  the  mechanism  has 
been  stilled  forever. 

One  other  desire  has  trodden  on  the  heels 
of  the  first :  That  Young  England  and  Young 
America  may  be  inspired  with  a  wish  to  un 
derstand  each  other  better,  to  take  each  other 
frankly  and  simply  for  the  manhood  in  each  ; 
and  that  thus  misconception  and  prejudice  may 
disappear  like  mists  of  an  old-day  dream. 

ISABEL  HORNIBROOK. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
CHAPTER 

I.  JACKING  FOR  DEER 9 

II.  A  SPILL-OUT 20 

III.  LIFE  IN  A  BARK  HUT 27 

IV.  WHITHER  BOUND? 41 

V.  A  COON  HUNT 57 

VI.  AFTER  BLACK  DUCKS 72 

VII.  A  FOREST  GUIDE-POST 92 

VIII.  ANOTHER  CAMP I01 

IX.  A  SUNDAY  AMONG  THE  PINES  .     .          .     .  124 

X.  FORWARD  ALL! J32 

XI.  BEAVER  WORKS J45 

XII.  "Go  IT,  OLD  BRUIN!" 157 

XIII.  "THE  SKIN  is  YOURS" :72 

XIV.  A  LUCKY  HUNTER lSl 

XV.  A  FALLEN  KING 196 

XVI.  MOOSE-CALLING 2I5 

XVII.  HERB'S  YARNS 23r 

XVIII.  To  LONELIER  WILDS 247 

XIX.  TREED  BY  A  MOOSE 257 

5 


6  Contents. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  DOL'S  TRIUMPH  . 283 

XXI.  ON  KATAHDIN 291 

XXII.  THE  OLD  HOME-CAMP 304 

XXIII.  BROTHERS'  WORK 318 

XXIV.  "  KEEPING  THINGS  EVEN" 326 

XXV.  A  LITTLE  CARIBOU  QUARREI 335 

XXVI.  Doc  AGAIN 351 

XXVII.  CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  OTHER  SIDE  ....  359 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

THE    MOOSE    WAS    NOW    SNORTING    LIKE   A    WAR- 
HORSE  BENEATH Frontispiece 

"THERE   IS   MOOSEHEAD    LAKE1' 53 

DOL  SIGHTS  A  FRIENDLY  CAMP 105 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  KATAHDIN 149 

"Go  IT,  OLD  BRUIN!    Go  IT  WHILE  You  CAN!"     .  169 

"HERB  HEAL" 187 

A  FALLEN  KING 199 

THE  CAMP  ON  MILLINOKETT  LAKE 239 

"  HERB   CHARGED   THROUGH    THE   CHOKING   DUST- 
CLOUDS"    ...  315 

GREENVILLE,  —  "FAREWELL  TO  THE  WOODS"     .    .  355 


CAMP  AND  TRAIL. 


CHAPTER   I. 

JACKING    FOR    DEER. 

OW,  Neal  Farrar,  you've  got  to  be  as 
still  as  the  night  itself,  remember.  If 
you  bounce,  or  turn,  or  draw  a  long  breath, 
you  won't  have  a  rag  of  reputation  as  a  deer- 
hunter  to  take  back  to  England.  Sneeze 
once,  and  we're  done  for.  That  means  more 
diet  of  flapjacks  and  pork,  instead  of  veni 
son  steaks.  And  I  guess  your  city  appetite 
won't  rally  to  pork  much  longer,  even  in  the 
wilds." 

Neal  Farrar  sighed  as  if  there  was  some 
thing  in  that. 

9 


TO  Camp  and  Trail. 

"But,  you  know,  it's  just  when  an  unlucky 
fellow  would  give  his  life  not  to  sneeze  that 
he's  sure  to  bring  out  a  thumping  big  one," 
he  said  plaintively. 

"  Well,  ,keep  it  back  like  a  hero  if  your 
head  bursts  in  the  attempt,"  was  the  reply 
with  a  muffled  laugh.  "  When  you  know 
that  the  canoe  is  gliding  along  somehow,  but 
you  can't  hear  a  sound  or  feel  a  motion,  and 
you  begin  to  wonder  whether  you're  in  the 
air  or  on  water,  flying  or  floating,  imagine 
that  you're  the  ghost  of  some  old  Indian 
hunter  who  used  to  jack  for  deer  on  Squaw 
Pond,  and  be  stonily  silent." 

"Oh!  I  say,  stop  chaffing,"  whispered 
Neal  impetuously.  "  You're  enough  to  make 
a  fellow  feel  creepy  before  ever  he  starts.  I 
could  bear  the  worst  racket  on  earth  better 
than  a  dead  quiet." 

This  dialogue  was  exchanged  in  low  but 
excited  voices  between  a  young  man  of  about 
one  and  twenty,  and  a  lad  who  was  appar 
ently  five  years  his  junior,  while  they  waded 
knee-deep  in  water  among  the  long,  rank 
grasses  and  circular  pads  of  water-lilies  which 
border  the  banks  of  Squaw  Pond,  a  small 
lake  in  the  forest  region  of  northern  Maine. 

The    hour  was    somewhere   about   eleven 


Jacking  for  Deer.  \  i 

o'clock.  The  night  was  intensely  still,  with 
out  a  zephyr  stirring  among  the  trees,  and 
of  that  wavering  darkness  caused  by  a  half- 
clouded  moon.  On  the  black  and  green 
water  close  to  the  bank  rocked  a  light  birch- 
bark  canoe,  a  ticklish  craft,  which  a  puff 
might  overturn.  The  young  man  who  had 
urged  the  necessity  for  silence  was  groping 
round  it,  fumbling  with  the  sharp  bow,  in 
which  he  fixed  a  short  pole  or  ''jack-staff," 
with  some  object  —  at  present  no  one  could 
discern  what  —  on  top. 

''There,  I've  got  the  jack  rigged  up!  "  he 
whispered  presently.  "  Step  in  now,  Neal, 
and  I'll  open  it.  Have  you  got  your  rifle 
at  half-cock  ?  That's  right.  Be  careful.  A 
fellow  would  need  to  have  his  hair  parted  in 
the  middle  in  a  birch  box  like  this.  Remem 
ber,  mum's  the  word  !  " 

The  lad  obeyed,  seating  himself  as  noise 
lessly  as  he  could  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe, 
and  threw  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder  in  a  con 
venient  position  for  shooting,  with  a  freedom 
which  showed  he  was  accustomed  to  fire 
arms. 

At  the  same  time  his  companion  stepped 
into  the  canoe,  having  first  touched  the  dark 
object  on  the  pole  just  over  Neal's  head.  In- 


12  Camp  and  Trail. 

stantly  it  changed  into  a  brilliant,  scintil 
lating,  silvery  eye,  which  flashed  forward  a 
stream  of  white  light  on  a  line  with  the 
pointed  gun,  cutting  the  black  face  of  the 
pond  in  twain  as  with  a  silver  blade,  and 
making  the  leaves  on  shore  glisten  like  oxi 
dized  coins. 

The  effect  of  this  sudden  illumination  was 
so  sudden  and  beautiful  that  the  boy  for  a 
minute  or  two  held  his  rifle  in  unsteady 
hands  while  the  canoe  glided  out  from  the 
bank.  An  exclamation  began  in  his  throat 
which  ended  in  an  indistinct  gurgle.  Remem 
bering  that  he  was  pledged  to  silence,  he  set 
tled  himself  to  be  as  wordless  and  motionless 
as  if  his  living  body  had  become  a  statue. 

From  his  position  no  revealing  radiance 
fell  on  him.  He  sat  in  shadow  beside  that 
glinting  eye,  which  was  really  a  good-sized 
lantern,  fitted  at  the  back  with  a  powerful  sil 
vered  reflector,  and  in  front  with  a  glass  lens, 
the  light  being  thrown  directly  ahead.  It  was 
provided  also  with  a  sliding  door  that  could 
be  noiselessly  slipped  over  the  glass  with  a 
touch,  causing  the  blackness  of  a  total  eclipse. 

This  was  the  deer-hunters'  "jack-lamp," 
familiarly  called  by  Neal's  companion  the 
"jack." 


Jacking  for  Deer.  13 

And  now  it  may  be  readily  guessed  in  what 
thrilling  night-work  these  canoe-men  are  en 
gaged  as  they  skim  over  Squaw  Pond,  with 
no  swish  of  paddle,  nor  jar  of  motion,  nor 
even  a  noisy  breath,  disturbing  the  brooding 
silence  through  which  they  glide.  They  are 
"jacking"  or  "  floating"  for  deer,  showing 
the  radiant  eye  of  their  silvery  jack  to  at 
tract  any  antlered  buck  or  graceful  doe  which 
may  come  forth  from  the  screen  of  the  forest 
to  drink  at  this  quiet  hour  amid  the  tangled 
grasses  and  lily-pads  at  the  pond's  brink. 

Now,  a  deer,  be  it  buck,  doe,  or  fawn  in  the 
spotted  coat,  will  stand  as  if  moonstruck,  if  it 
hears  no  sound,  to  gaze  at  the  lantern,  study 
ing  the  meteor  which  has  crossed  its  world 
as  an  astronomer  might  investigate  a  rare, 
radiant  comet.  So  it  offers  a  steady  mark 
for  the  sportsman's  bullet,  if  he  can  glide 
near  enough  to  discern  its  outline  and  take 
aim.  There  is  one  exception  to  this  rule.  If 
the  wary  animal  has  ever  been  startled  by 
a  shot  fired  from  under  the  jack,  trust  him 
never  to  watch  a  light  again,  though  it  shine 
like  the  Kohinoor. 

As  for  Neal  Farrar,  this  was  his  first  at 
tempt  at  playing  the  part  of  midnight  hunter  ; 
and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  —  being  English 


14  Camp  and  Trail. 

born  and  city  bred  —  he  found  the  situation 
much  too  mystifying  for  his  peace  of  mind. 

He  knew  that  the  canoe  was  moving,  mov 
ing  rapidly;  for  giant  pines  along  the  shore, 
looking  solid  and  black  as  mourning  pillars, 
shot  by  him  as  if  theirs  were  the  motion, 
with  an  effect  indescribably  weird.  Now  and 
again  a  gray  pine  stump,  appearing,  if  the 
light  struck  it,  twice  its  real  size,  passed  like 
a  shimmering  ghost.  But  he  felt  not  the 
slightest  tremor  of  advance,  heard  no  swish 
or  ripple  of  paddle. 

A  moisture  oozed  from  his  skin,  and  gath 
ered  in  heavy  drips  under  the  brim  of  his  hat, 
as  he  began  to  wonder  whether  the  light  bark 
skiff  was  working  through  the  water  at  all,  or 
skimming  in  some  unnatural  way  above  it. 
For  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  settle  this 
doubt.  And,  fearful  of  balking  the  expedi 
tion  by  a  stir,  he  dared  not  turn  his  head  to 
investigate  the  doings  of  his  comrade,  Cyrus 
Garst. 

Cyrus,  though  also  city  bred,  was  an  Amer 
ican,  and  evidently  an  old  hand  at  the  present 
business.  The  Maine  wilds  had  long  been 
his  playground.  He  had  studied  the  knack 
of  noiseless  paddling  under  the  teaching  of  a 
skilled  forest  guide  until  he  fairly  brought  it 


Jacking  for  Deer.  1 5 

to  perfection.  And,  in  perfection,  it  is  about 
the  most  wizard-like  art  practised  in  the  nine 
teenth  century. 

The  silent  propulsion  was  managed  thus  : 
the  grand  master  of  the  paddle  gripped  its 
cross  handle  in  both  hands,  working  it  so  that 
its  broad  blade  cut  the  water  first  backward 
then  forward  so  dexterously  that  not  even  his 
own  practised  hearing  could  detect  a  sound ; 
nor  could  he  any  more  than  Neal  feel  a  sen 
sation  of  motion. 

The  birch-bark  skiff  skimmed  onward  as  if 
borne  on  unseen  pinions. 

To  Neal  Farrar,  who  had  been  brought  up 
amid  the  tumult  of  rival  noises  and  the  prac 
tical  surroundings  of  Manchester,  England, 
who  was  a  stranger  to  the  solitudes  of  primi 
tive  forests,  and  almost  a  stranger  to  weird 
experiences,  the  silent  advance  was  a  mystery. 
And  it  began  to  be  a  hateful  one  ;  for  he 
had  not  even  the  poor  explanation  of  it  which 
has  been  given  in  this  record. 

It  was  only  his  third  night  in  Maine  wilds  ; 
and  I  fear  that  his  friend  Cyrus,  when  inviting 
him  to  join  in  the  jacking  excursion,  had  re 
frained  from  explaining  .the  canoe  mystery, 
mischievously  promising  himself  considerable 
fun  from  the  English  lad's  bewilderment. 


1 6  Camp  and  Trail. 

Neal's  hearing  was  strained  to  catch  any 
sound  of  big1  game  beating  about  amid  the 
bushes  on  shore  or  splashing  in  the  water, 
but  none  reached  him.  The  night  seemed  to 
grow  stiller,  stiller,  ever  stiller,  as  they  glided 
towards  the  head  of  the  pond,  until  the  dead 
quiet  started  strange,  imaginary  noises. 

There  was  a  pounding  as  of  dull  hammers 
in  his  ears,  a  belling  in  his  head,  and  a  drum 
ming  at  his  heart. 

o 

He  was  tortured  by  a  wild  desire  to  yell  his 
loudest,  and  defy  the  brooding  silence. 

Another  —  a  midnight  watchman — broke 
it  instead. 

"  Whoo-ho-ho-whah-whoo  !  " 

It  was  the  thrilling  scream  of  a  big-eyed  owl 
as  he  chased  a  squirrel  to  its  death,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  banquet  in  unwinking  solemnity. 

"  Whoo-ho-ho-whah-whoo  !  " 

Neal  started,  —  who  wouldn't  ?  —  and  jog 
gled  the  canoe,  thereby  nearly  ending  the 
night  hunt  at  once  by  the  untimely  dis 
charge  of  his  rifle. 

He  had  barely  regained  some  measure  of 
steadiness,  though  he  felt  as  if  needles  were 
sticking  into  him  all  over,  when  at  last  there 
was  a  crashing  amid  the  bushes  on  the  right 
bank,  not  a  hundred  yards  distant. 


Jacking  for  Deer.  1 7 

Noiselessly  as  ever  the  canoe  shot  around, 
turning  the  jack's  eye  in  that  direction.  A 
minute  later  a  magnificent  buck,  swinging 
his  antlers  proudly,  dashed  into  the  pond, 
and  stooped  his  small  red  tongue  to  drink, 
licking  in  the  water  greedily  with  a  soft,  lap 
ping  sound. 

Neal  silently  cocked  his  rifle,  almost  chok 
ing  with  excitement ;  then  paused  for  a  few 
seconds  to  brace  up  and  control  the  nervous 
terrors  which  had  possessed  him,  before  his 
eye  singled  out  the  spot  in  the  deer's  neck 
which  his  bullet  must  pierce.  But  he  found 
his  operations  further  delayed ;  for  the  animal 
suddenly  lifted  its  head,  scattered  feathery 
spray  from  its  horns  and,*  hoofs,  and  retired 
a  few  steps  up  the  bank. 

In  its  former  position  every  part  of  its 
body  was  visibly  outlined  under  the  silver 
light  of  the  jack.  Now  a  successful  shot 
would  be  difficult,  though  it  might  be  man 
aged.  The  boy  leaned  slightly  forward,  try 
ing  to  hold  his  gun  dead  straight  and  take 
cool  aim,  when  the  most  curious  of  all  the 
curious  sensations  he  had  felt  this  night  ran 
through  him,  seeming  to  scorch  like  electri 
city  from  his  scalp  to  his  feet. 

From  the  stand  which  the  deer  had  taken, 


1 8  Camp  and  Trail. 

its  body  was  in  shadow.  All  that  the  sports 
man  could  discern  were  two  living,  glowing 
eyes,  staring  —  so  it  appeared  to  him  — 
straight  into  his,  like  starry  search-lights,  as 
if  they  read  the  death-purpose  in  the  boy's 
heart,  and  begged  him  to  desist. 

It  was  all  over  with  Neal  Farrar's  shot. 
He  lowered  his  rifle,  while  the  speech,  which 
could  no  longer  be  repressed,  rattled  in  his 
throat  before  it  broke  forth. 

"  I'll  go  crazy  if  I  don't  speak !  "  he  cried. 

At  the  first  word  the  buck  went  scudding 
like  the  wind  through  the  forest,  doubtless 
vowing  by  the  shades  of  his  ancestors  that  he 
never  would  stand  to  gaze  at  a  light  again. 

"  And  —  and  — •£  can't  shoot  the  thing 
while  it's  looking  at  me  like  that !  "  the  boy 
blurted  out. 

"  You  dunderhead  !  What  do  you  mean?" 
gasped  Cyrus,  breaking  silence  in  a  gusty 
whisper  of  mingled  anger  and  amusement. 
"  You  won't  get  a  chance  to  shoot  it  or  any 
thing  else  now.  You've  lost  us  our  meat  for 
to-night." 

"Well,  I  couldn't  help  it,"  Neal  whispered 
back.  "  For  pity's  sake,  what  has  been  mov 
ing  this  canoe  ?  The  quiet  was  enough  to 
set  a  fellow  mad !  And  then  that  buck  stared 


Jacking  for  Deer.  1 9 

straight  at  me  like  a  human  thing.  I  could 
see  nothing  but  two  burning  eyes  with  white 
rings  round  them." 

"  Stuff!  "  was  the  American's  answer.  "  He 
was  gazing  at  the  jack,  not  at  you.  He 
couldn't  see  an  inch  of  you  with  that  light 
just  over  your  head.  But  it  would  have  been 
a  hard  shot  anyhow,  for  his  nose  was  towards 
you,  and  ten  to  one  you'd  have  made  a  clean 
miss." 

"  Well,"  he  added,  after  five  minutes  of 
acute  listening,  "  I  guess  we  may  give  over 
jacking  for  to-night.  That  first  cry  of  yours 
was  enough  to  set  a  regiment  of  deer  scam 
pering.  I'm  only  half  mad  after  all  at  your 
losing  a  chance  at  such  a  splendid  buck.  It 
was  something  to  see  him  as  he  stooped  to 
drink  in  the  glare  of  the  jack,  a  midnight 
forest  picture  such  as  one  wants  to  remem 
ber.  Long  may  he  flourish  !  We  wouldn't 
have  started  out  to  rid  him  of  his  glorious 
life  if  we  weren't  half-starved  on  flapjacks 
and  ends  of  pork.  Let's  get  back  to  camp ! 
I  guess  you  felt  a  few  new  sensations  to 
night,  eh,  Neal  Farrar  ?  " 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    SPILL-OUT. 

INDEED,  snocks  and  sensations  seemed  to 
*•  ride  rampant  that  night  in  endless  suc 
cession  ;  a  fact  which  Neal  presently  realized, 
as  does  every  daring  young  fellow  who  visits 
the  Maine  wilderness  for  the  first  time,  what 
ever  be  his  object. 

Ere  turning  the  canoe  towards  home,  Cyrus 
drove  it  a  few  feet  nearer  to  shore,  again 
warily  listening  for  any  further  sound  of  game. 
Just  then  another  wild,  whooping  scream 
cleft  the  night  air ;  and,  on  looking  towards 
the  bank,  Neal  beheld  his  owlship,  who  had 
finished  the  squirrel,  seated  on  an  aged  wind 
fall,1  one  end  of  which  dipped  into  the  water. 

1  A  forest  tree  which  has  been  blown  down. 


20 


A  Spill -Out.  21 

The  gray  bird  on  the  gray  old  trunk  formed 
a  second  thrilling  midnight  picture,  but  at 
this  moment  young  Farrar  was  in  no  mood 
for  studying  effects.  He  felt  rather  unstrung 
by  his  recent  emotions  ;  and,  though  he  was 
by  no  means  an  imaginative  youth,  he  actu 
ally  took  it  into  his  head  half  seriously  that 
the  whooping,  hooting  thing  was  taunting 
him  with  making  a  failure  of  the  jacking  bus 
iness.  Without  pausing  to  consider  whether 
the  owl  would  furnish  meat  for  the  camp  or 
not,  he  let  fly  at  him  suddenly  with  his  rifle. 

The  fate  of  that  ghostly,  big-eyed  creature 
will  be  forever  one  of  those  mysteries  which 
Neal  Farrar  would  like  to  solve.  Whether 
the  heavy  bullet  intended  for  deer  laid  him 
open  —  which  is  improbable  —  or  whether  it 
didn't,  nobody  had  a  chance  to  discover.  Be 
ing  unused  to  birch-bark  canoes,  the  sports 
man  gave  a  slight  lurch  aside  after  he  had 
discharged  his  leaden  messenger  of  death, 
startled  doubtless  by  the  loud,  unexpected 
echoes  which  reverberated  through  the  forest 
after  his  shot. 

"  Hold  on  !  "  cried  Cyrus,  trying  to  avert 
a  ducking  by  a  counter-motion.  "You'll  tip 
us  over !  " 

Too   late !     The  birch   skiff   spun    round, 


22  Camp  and  Trail. 

rocked  crazily  for  a  second  or  two,  and  keeled 
over,  spilling  both  its  occupants  into  the 
black  and  silver  water  of  the  pond. 

Of  course  they  ducked  under,  and  of  course 
they  rose,  gurgling  and  spluttering. 

"You  didn't  lose  the  rifle,  Neal,  did  you?" 
gasped  the  American  directly  he  could  speak. 

"  Not  I  !     I  held  on  to  it  like  grim  death." 

"  Good  for  you  !  To  lose  a  hundred-and- 
fifty-dollar  gun  when  we're  starting  into  the 
wilds  would  be  maddening." 

Then,  just  because  they  were  extremely 
healthy,  happy,  vigorous  fellows,  whose  lungs 
had  been  drinking  in  pure,  exhilarating  ozone 
and  fragrant  odors  of  pine-balsam  and  were 
thereby  expanded,  they  took  a  cheerful  view 
of  this  duck  under,  and  made  the  midnight 
forest  echo,  echo,  and  re-echo,  with  peals  and 
gusts  and  shouts  of  laughter,  while  they 
struggled  to  right  their  canoe. 

The  merry  jingles  rang  on  in  challenge 
and  answer,  repeating  from  both  sides  of  the, 
pond,  until  they  reached  at  last  the  wooded 
slopes  and  mighty  bowlders  of  Old  Squaw 
Mountain,  a  peak  whose  "  star-crowned  head  " 
could  be  imagined  rather  than  discerned 
against  the  horizon,  near  the  distant  shore 
from  which  the  hunters  had  started.  Here 


A  Spill -Out.  23 

echo  ran  riot.  It  seemed  to  their  excited 
fancies  as  if  the  ghost  of  Old  Squaw  herself, 
the  disappointed  Indian  mother  who  had, 
according  to  tradition,  lived  so  long  in  lone 
liness  upon  this  mountain,  were  joining  in 
their  mirth  with  haggish  peals. 

The  canoe  had  turned  bottom  uppermost. 
On  righting  it  they  found  that  the  jack-staff 
had  been  dislodged.  The  jack  was  floating 
gayly  away  over  the  ripples  ;  its  light,  being 
in  an  air-tight  case,  was  unquenched. 

"  Swim  ashore  with  the  rifle,  Neal,"  said 
Cyrus.  "  I'll  pick  up  the  jack.  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  so  absurdly  comical  as  it 
looks,  dodging  off  on  its  own  hook  like  a  big, 
wandering  eye  ?  " 

With  his  comrade's  help  young  Farrar  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  the  gun  across  his  back, 
slinging  it  round  him  by  its  leather  shoulder- 
strap  ;  then  he  struck  out  for  the  bank,  hav 
ing  scarcely  twenty  yards  to  swim  before  he 
reached  shallow  water. 

Now,  for  the  first  time  to-night,  the  moon 
shone  fully  out  from  her  veil  of  cloud,  casting 
a  flood  of  silver  radiance,  and  showing  him  a 
scene  in  white  and  black,  still  and  clear  as 
a  steel  engraving,  of  a  beauty  so  unimagined 
and  grand  that  it  seemed  a  little  awful.  It 


24  Camp  and  Trail. 

gave  him  a  sudden  respect  for  the  unre 
claimed,  seldom-trodden  region  to  which  his 
craving  for  adventure  had  brought  him. 

The  outline  of  Old  Squaw  Mountain  could 
be  plainly  discerned,  a  dark,  towering  shape 
against  the  horizon.  A  few  stars  glinted  like 
a  diamond  diadem  above  its  brow.  Down 
its  sides  and  from  the  base  stretched  a  sable 
mantle  of  forest,  enwrapping  Squaw  Pond,  oi 
which  the  moon  made  a  mirror. 

"  My  !  I  think  this  would  make  the  fellows 
in  Manchester  open  their  eyes  a  bit,"  mut 
tered  Neal  aloud.  "  Only  one  feels  as  if  he 
ought  to  see  some  old  Indian  brave  such  as 
Cyrus  tells  about,  —  a  Touch- the- Cloud,  or 
Whistling  Elk,  or  Spotted  Tail,  come  gliding 
towards  him  out  of  the  woods  in  his  paint 
and  feather  toggery.  Glad  I  didn't  visit 
Maine  a  hundred  years  ago,  though,  when 
there'd  have  been  a  chance  of  such  a  meet- 
ing." 

Still  muttering,  young  Farrar  kicked  off  his 
high  rubber  boots,  and  dragged  off  his  coat. 
He  proceeded  to  shake  and  wring  the  water 
from  his  upper  garments,  listening  intently, 
and  glancing  half  expectantly  into  the  pitch- 
black  shadows  at  the  edges  of  the  forest,  as 
if  he  might  hear  the  stealthy  steps  and  see 


A  Spill -Out.  25 

the  savage  form  of  the  superseded  red  man 
emerge  therefrom. 

"  Ugh!  I  mind  the  ducking  now  more  than 
I  did  a  while  ago,"  he  murmured.  "  The 
water  wasn't  cold.  Why,  we  bathed  at^  the 
other  end  of  the  pond  late  last  evening! 
But  these  wet  clothes  are  precious  uncom 
fortable.  I  wish  we  were  nearer  to  camp. 
Good  Gracious  !  What's  that  ?  " 

He  stood  stock-still  and  erect,  his  flesh 
shrinking  a  little,  while  his  drenched  flannel 
shirt  clung  yet  more  closely  and  clammily  to 
his  skin. 

A  distant  noise  was  wafted  to  his  ears 
through  the  forest  behind.  It  began  like^the 
gentle,  mellow  lowing  of  a  cow  at  evening, 
swelled  into  a  quavering,  appealing  crescendo 
cadence,  and  gradually  died  away.  Almost 
as  the  last  note  ceased  another  commenced 
at  the  same  low  pitch,  with  only  the  rest  of 
a  heart-beat  between  the  two,  and  surged 
forth  into  a  plaintive  yet  tempestuous  call, 
which  sank  as  before.  It  was  followed  by 
a  third,  terminating  in  an  impatient  roar. 
The  weird  solo  ran  through  several  scales  in 
its  performance,  rising,  wailing,  booming,  sink 
ing,  ever  varying  in  expression.  It  marked  a 
new  era  in  Neal's  experience  of  sounds,  and 


26  Camp  and  Trail. 

left  him  choking  with  bewilderment  about 
what  sort  of  forest  creature  it  could  be  which 
uttered  such  a  call. 

He  began  to  get  out  some  bungling  de 
scription  when  Cyrus  joined  him  shortly  after 
wards,  but  the  American  had  had  a  lively 
time  of  it  while  recovering  his  jack-light  and 
righting  the  canoe  on  mid-pond.  He  was 
in  no  mood  for  explanations. 

"  Keep  the  yarn,  whatever  it  is,  till  to 
morrow,  Neal,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  hear  any 
thing  special.  Perhaps  I  was  too  far  away. 
I'm  so  wet  and  jaded  that  I  feel  as  limp  as  a 
washed-out  rag.  Let's  get  back  to  camp  as 
fast  as  we  can." 


CHAPTER   III. 

LIFE    IN    A    BARK    HUT. 

IT  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
the  tired,  draggled  pair  stumbled  ashore 
at  the  place  where  they  embarked,  hauled 
up  their  birch  skiff,  leaving  it  to  repose,  bot 
tom  uppermost,  under  a  screen  of  bushes, 
and  then  stood  for  some  minutes  in  delibera 
tion. 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  we  can  find  the  trail  all 
right,"  said  Cyrus.  "  Yes,  I  see  the  blazes 
on  the  trees.  Here's  luck  !  " 

He  had  been  turning  the  jack-lamp  on 
either  side  of  him,  trying  to  discover  the 
"  blazes,"  or  notches  cut  in  some  of  the 
trunks,  which  marked  the  "  blazed  trail  " —  in 

other  words,  the   spotted   line    through    the 

27 


28  Camp  and  Trail. 

otherwise  trackless  forest,  which  would  lead 
him  whither  he  wanted  to  go. 

It  required  considerable  experience  and  un 
ending  watchfulness  to  follow  these  "  blazes"  ; 
but  young  Garst  seemed  to  have  the  instinct 
of  a  true  woodsman,  and  went  ahead  unfal 
teringly,  if  vigilantly,  while  Neal  followed 
closely  in  his  tracks. 

After  rather  a  lengthy  trudge,  they  reached 
a  point  where  the  ground  sloped  gently  up 
ward  into  a  low  bluff.  Still  keeping  to  the 
trail,  they  ascended  this  eminence,  finding 
the  forest  not  so  dense,  and  the  walking 
easier  than  it  had  been  hitherto.  Gaining 
the  top,  they  emerged  upon  an  open  patch, 
which  had  been  cleared  of  its  erect,  massive 
pines,  and  the  long-hidden  earth  laid  bare  to 
the  sky  by  the  lumberman's  axe. 

Here  the  eagerly  desired  sight  —  that  sight 
of  all  others  to  the  tired  camper;  namely, 
the  camp  itself,  with  its  cheery,  blazing  camp- 
fire  —  burst  upon  their  view,  sheltered  by  a 
group  of  sapling  pines,  which  had  grown  up 
since  their  giant  brothers  went  to  make 
timber. 

Now,  a  Maine  camp,  as  every  one  knows, 
may  consist  of  any  temporary  shelter  you 
choose  to  name,  according  to  the  tastes  and 


Life  in  a  Bark  Hut.  29 

opportunities  of  its  occupants,  from  a  fair 
white  canvas  home  to  a  log  cabin  or  a  has 
tily  erected  canopy  of  spruce  boughs.  In 
the  present  instance  it  was  a  "  wangen,"  or 
hut  of  strong  bark,  such  as  is  sometimes 
used  by  lumbermen  to  rest  and  sleep  in 
when  they  are  driving  their  floats  of  timber 
down  one  of  the  rivers  of  this  region  to  a 
distant  town,  which  is  a  centre  of  the  lumber 
trade. 

Cyrus  and  Neal  were  making  across  the 
clearing  in  the  direction  of  the  camp-fire 
with  revived  spirits,  when  the  American  sud 
denly  grabbed  his  friend  by  the  arm,  and 
drew  him  behind  a  clump  of  low  bushes. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute  !  "  he  whispered.  "  By 
all  that's  glorious,  there's  Uncle  Eb  singing 
his  favorite  sohg !  It's  worth  hearing.  You 
never  listened  to  such  music  in  England." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  did,"  answered 
Neal,  suppressed  laughter  making  him  shake. 

Upon  a  gray  pine  stump,  beside  the  blaze, 
which  he  was  feeding  with  a  hemlock  bough, 
sat  a  battered-looking  yet  lively  personage. 
Had  he  been  standing  upright  upon  the 
remnant  of  trunk,  he  would  certainly,  in  the 
bright  but  changeful  firelight,  have  deceived 
an  onlooker  into  believing  him  to  be  a  con- 


30  Camp  and  Trail. 

tinuation  of  it;  for  the  baggy  tweed  trou 
sers  which  he  wore  on  his  immense  legs,  and 
which  partially  hid  his  loose-fitting  brogans, 
or  woodsman's  boots,  his  thick,  knitted  jer 
sey,  his  mop  of  woolly  hair,  with  the  cap  of 
coon's  fur  that  adorned  it,  were  a  striking 
mixture  of  grays,  all  bordering  upon  the 
color  of  the  stump.  His  skin,  however,  was 
a  fine  contrast,  shining  as  he  bent  towards 
the  flame  like  the  outside  of  a  copper  kettle. 
In  daylight  it  would  be  three  shades  darker, 
because  the  thick  coral  lips,  gleaming  teeth, 
and  prominent,  friendly  eyes  of 'the  individual, 
betrayed  him  to  be  in  his  own  words,  "a  col 
ored  gen'leman ; "  that  is,  a  full-blooded  negro, 
and  a  free  American  citizen. 

Beside  him,  squatting  upon  his  haunches 
and  wagging  his  shaggy  tail,*was  a  good- 
sized  dog,  not  of  pure  breed,  but  undoubtedly 
possessed  of  fire  and  fidelity,  as  was  shown 
by  the  eye  he  raised  to  his  master.  His  red 
coat  and  general  formation  showed  that  his 
father  had  been  an  Irish  setter,  though  he 
seemed  to  have  other  and  fiercer  blood  in 
his  veins,  mingling  with  that  of  this  gentle 
parent. 

To  him  the  negro  was  chanting  a  war-song, 
—  some  lines  by  a  popular  writer  which  he 


Life  in  a  Bark  Hut.  31 

had  found  in  an  old  newspaper,  and  had  set 
to  a  curious  tune  of  his  own  composition,  ren 
dering  the  performance  more  inspiriting  by 
sundry  wild  whoops,  and  an  occasional  whack 
ing  of  his  teeth  together. 

Here  are  two  verses,  under  the  influence 
of  which  the  dog  worked  himself  up  to  such 
excitement  that  he  seemed  to  feel  the  ghosts 
of  rabbits  slain  —  for  he  could  smell  no  live 
ones  —  hovering  near  him  :  — 

"  I  raise  my  gun  what  de  rabbit  run  — 

Ketch  him,  Tiger,  ketch  him  ! 
En  de  rabbit  say  : 

'  Gimme  time  ter  pray, 
Fer  I  ain't  got  long  fer  to  stay,  to  stay ! ' 

Oh,  ketch  him,  Tiger,  ketch  him  ! 

"  Ketch  him,  oh,  ketch  him! 
Run  ter  de  place  en  fetch  him ! 
De  bell  clone  chime 
Fer  de  breakfast  time  — 

Oh,  ketch  him,  Tiger,  ketch  him ! " 

"  If  there  are  any  more  verses,  Uncle  Eb, 
keep  them  until  we've  had  supper,  or  break 
fast,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  a  meal  at 
this  unearthly  hour.  I'm  so  hungry  that  I 
could  chew  nails  ! "  cried  Cyrus,  springing 
from  behind  the  bushes,  and  reaching  the 
camp-fire  with  a  few  strides,  Neal  following 
him. 


32  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  yonkers ;  is  dat  you  ?  "  cried 
the  darkey,  uprearing  his  gray  figure.  "  I'se 
mighty  glad  to  see  you  back.  Whar's  yer 
meat?  Left  it  in  de  canoe  mebbe?  De 
buck  too  big  to  drag  'long  to  camp  —  eh  ?  " 

There  was  a  wicked  rolling  of  Uncle  Eb's 
eyes  while  he  spoke.  Evidently  from  the 
looks  of  the  sportsmen  he  guessed  immedi 
ately  what  had  been  the  result  of  their  excur 
sion. 

"  No  luck  and  no  buck  to-night !  "  answered 
Garst.  "  But  don't  roast  us,  Uncle  Eb.  Get 
us  something  to  eat  quicker  than  lightning  or 
we'll  go  for  you  —  at  least  we  would  if  we 
weren't  entirely  played  out.  It  isn't  every 
body  who  can  manage  a  hard  shot  as  cleverly 
as  you  do,  when  he  can  only  see  the  eyes  of 
an  animal.  And  that  was  the  one  chance  we 
got." 

No  man  living  ever  heard  a  further  word 
from  Cyrus  as  to  how  his  English  friend  bore 
the  scares  of  a  first  night's  jacking. 

"  Ya-as,  dat's  a  ticklish  shot.  Most  folks 
is  skeered  o'  trying  it,"  drawled  out  Ebenezer 
Grout,  a  professional  guide  as  well  as  "  col 
ored  gen'leman,"  familiarly  called  by  visitors 
to  this  region  who  hired  the  use  of  his  hut 
and  his  services,  "  Uncle  Eb." 


Life  in  a  Bark  Hut.  33 

"  There's  some  comfort  for  you,"  whispered 
Cyrus  slyly  into  Neal's  ear.  Aloud  he  said, 
addressing1  the  guide,  "  We  had  a  spill-out, 
too,  as  a  crown-all.  I'm  mighty  glad  that 
this  is  the  second  of  October,  not  November, 
and  that  the  weather  is  as  warm  as  summer; 
otherwise  we'd  be  in  a  pretty  bad  way  from 
chill.  I  feel  shivery.  Hurry  up,  and  get  us 
some  steaming  hot  coffee  and  flapjacks,  Un 
cle  Eb,  while  we  fling  off  these  wet  clothes. 
The  trouble  is  we  haven't  got  any  dry  ones." 

11  Hain't  got  no  oder  suits  ?  "  queried  the 
woodsman.  "  Den  go  'long,  boys,  and  rig 
yerselves  up  in  yer  blankets.  Ye  can  pertend 
to  be  Injuns  fer  to-night.  Like  enough  dis 
ain't  de  worst  shift  ye'll  have  to  make  'fore  ye 
get  out  o'  dese  parts." 

As  the  draggled  pair  were  making  towards 
the  hut,  which  stood  about  six  feet  from  the 
fire,  to  follow  his  advice,  its  bark  door  was 
suddenly  pushed  wide  open.  Forth  stepped, 
or  rather  staggered,  another  boy,  younger  and 
shorter  than  Neal.  His  tumbled  fair  hair 
was  here  and  there  adorned  with  a  green  pine- 
needle,  which  was  not  remarkable,  considering 
that  he  had  just  arisen  from  a  bed  of  pine 
boughs.  Sundry  others  were  clinging  to  the 
surface  of  the  warm,  fleecy  blankets  in  which 


34  Camp  and  Trail. 

he  was  wrapped,  and  his  feet  were  thrust  into 
a  pair  of  moccasins.  He  had  the  appearance 
and  voice  of  a  person  awaking  from  sound 
sleep. 

"  I  say,  you  fellows,  it's  about  time  you 
got  back !  "  he  said,  rubbing  his  heavy  eyes, 
and  addressing  the  hunters.  "  I  hope  you've 
had  some  luck.  I  dreamt  that  I  was  smack 
ing  my  lips  over  a  venison  steak." 

"Smack  'em  w'en  you  git  it,  honey!"  re 
marked  Uncle  Eb,  while  he  mixed  a  plain 
batter  of  flour,  baking-powder,  and  cold 
water,  which  he  dropped  in  big  spoonfuls  on 
a  frying-pan,  previously  greased,  proceeding 
to  fry  the  mixture  over  his  camp-fire. 

The  thin,  round  cakes  which  presently  ap 
peared  were  the  "  flapjacks "  despised  by 
Cyrus  as  insufficient  diet. 

Without  waiting  to  answer  the  new  boy's 
greeting,  the  hunters  had  disappeared  into 
the  bark  shanty.  When  next  they  issued 
forth  they  were  rigged  up  Indian  fashion 
in  moccasins  and  blankets,  the  latter  being 
doubled  and  draped  over  their  underclothing, 
—  of  which  luckily  they  had  a  dry  supply,  — 
and  gathered  round  their  waists  with  leather 
straps.  Knitted  caps,  usually  worn  when 
sleeping,  adorned  their  heads. 


Life  in  a  Bark  Hut.  35 

"  You  see,  we  followed  Dol's  example  and 
your  advice,  Uncle  Eb,"  said  Cyrus,  as  they 
seated  themselves  by  the  camp-fire.  "  And 
I  tell  you  these  make  tip-top  dressing-gowns 
when  you're  feeling  a  little  bit  chilly  after  a 
drenching.  We  didn't  bring  along  a  second 
suit  of  tweeds  for  the  simple  reason  that  we 
mean  to  do  some  pretty  rough  tramping  with 
our  packs  on  our  backs,  and  then  a  fellow  is 
likely  to  grumble  at  any  unnecessary  pound 
of  weight  he  carries." 

"  Shuah  —  shuah  !  "  assented  Uncle  Eb. 

"  And  that  is  why  we  left  our  fishing-rods 
behind,"  continued  Garst.  "  You  see,  our 
main  object  this  trip  is  neither  hunting  nor 
fishing.  But  a  creel  of  gamey  trout  from 
Squaw  Pond  would  come  in  handy  now  to 
replenish  our  larder." 

"Wai,  I  b'lieve  I'll  fix  up  a  rod  to-mo-oh 
an'  hook  a  few,  fer  de  pork's  givin'  out. 
Hain't  got  mich  use  fer  trout  meself.  Dey's 
kind  o'  tasteless  eatin'  if  a  man  can  git  a 
bit  o'  fat  coon  or  a  fatty  [hare],  let  'lone 
ven'zon.  Pork's  a  sight  better'n  'em  to  my 
mind." 

While  Uncle  Eb  was  giving  his  views  on 
food,  he  was  hurriedly  "  bilin' "  coffee,  frying 
unlimited  flapjacks,  and  breaking  up  some 


36  Camp  and  Trail. 

crystal  cakes  of  maple  sugar,  which  he  melted 
into  a  sirup,  and  poured  over  them. 

"  De  bell  done  chime 
Fer  de  breakfast  time  !  " 

he  shouted  gleefully  when  all  was  accom 
plished.  "  Heah,  yonkers  !  I  guess  we  may 
call  dis  meal  breakfast  jest  as  well  as  not,  fer 
it's  neah  to  dawn  now." 

And  the  trio  fell  to  voraciously,  as  he 
handed  them  each  a  steaming-  tin  mug1  and 

o  o 

an  equally  steaming  plate.  The  newly 
awakened  youngster,  who  had  been  cuddling 
his  head  sleepily  against  Neal's  shoulder  (a 
glance  showed  that  they  were  brothers) ,  had 
clamored  for  his  share  of  the  banquet. 

"  You  haven't  been  lonely,  Dol,  I  hope, 
have  you  ?  "  said  Cyrus,  as  a  whole  flapjack, 
doubled  over  and  drenched  in  sirup,  disap 
peared  down  his  capacious  throat. 

"  Not  I,"  answered  Dol  (Adolphus  Farrar, 
ladies  and  gentlemen),  shutting  and  open 
ing  a  pair  of  steel-gray  eyes  with  a  sort  of 
quick  snap.  "  Uncle  Eb  and  I  sat  by  the 
fire  until  twelve  o'clock.  He  sang  songs,  and 
told  tip-top  stories  about  coon  hunts.  I  tell 
you  it  was  fun  !  I'd  rather  see  a  coon  hunt 
than  go  out  at  night  jacking,  especially  if  I 


Life  in  a  Bark  Hut.  37 

got  a  ducking  instead  of  a  deer,  like  some 
bungling  fellows  I  know." 

o         o 

"  Don't  be  saucy,  Young  England,  or  I'll  go 
for  you  when  I've  finished  eating,"  laughed 
Cyrus  good-humoredly.  "  Who  told  you 
what  we  got  ?  " 

Dol  winked  at  Uncle  Eb,  who  had,  indeed, 
entertained  him  with  giggling  jokes  about 
the  unsuccessful  hunters  while  they  were 
stripping  off  their  wet  garments. 

Adolphus,  being  the  youngest  of  the 
camping-party,  was  favored  with  the  softest 
pine-bough  bed  and  the  best  of  the  limited 
luxuries  which  the  camp  possessed,  with  un 
limited  nicknames,  —  from  "Young  England" 
to  "Shaver"  or  "Chick,"  according  to  the 
whims  of  his  comrades. 

"  Say,  Uncle  Eb,  we're  having  a  fine  old 
time  to-night  —  all  sorts  of  experiences!  I 
guess  you  may  as  well  finish  that  song  we 
interrupted  while  we're  finishing  our  meal." 

"  All  rightee,  gen'lemen  !  "  answered  the 
jolly  guide  and  cook. 

The  clog  Tiger  had  retreated  to  the  back 
of  the  camp-fire,  where  he  lay  blissfully  snooz 
ing  ;  but  at  a  booming  "  Whoop-ee  !  "  from  his 
master,  which  formed  a  prelude  to  the  follow 
ing  verses,  he  shot  up  like  a  rocket,  and 


38  Camp  and  Trail. 

manifested   all   his    former  signs   of  excite 
ment. 

"  Dey's  a  big  fat  goose  whar  de  turkey  roos'  — 

Ketch  him,  Tiger,  ketch  him ! 
En  de  goose  —  he  say, 

*  Hit'll  soon  be  day, 
En  I  got  no  feders  fer  ter  give  away ! ' 

Oh,  ketch  him,  Tiger,  ketch  him! 

"  Ketch  him,  oh,  ketch  him, 
Run  ter  de  roos'  en  fetch  him! 
He  ain't  gwine  tell 
On  de  dinner  bell  — • 

Ketch  him,  Tiger,  ketch  him  ! " 

"  Scoot  'long  to  bed  now,  you  yonkers,  or 
ye'll  look  like  spooks  to-mo-oh !  Hit's  day 
a'ready,"  cried  the  singer  directly  he  had 
whooped  out  his  last  note. 

And  the  "  yonkers,"  nothing  loath,  for  they 
had  finished  their  repast,  sprang  up  to  obey 
him. 

"  Isn't  it  a  comfort  that  we  haven't  any 
trouble  of  undressing  and  getting  into  our 
bedclothes,  fellows  ? "  Cyrus  said,  as  they 
reached  the  wangen,  and  prepared  to  throw 
themselves  upon  the  fragrant  camp-bed  of 
fresh  green  pine-boughs,  which  made  the 
bark  hut  smell  more  healthily  than  a  palace. 

The  natural  mattress  was  wide  enough  to 
accommodate  three.  The  boughs  were  laid 


Life  in  a  Bark  Hut.  39 

down  in  rows  with  the  under  side  up,  and 
overlapped  each  other.  To  be  sure,  an  occa 
sional  twig  might  poke  a  sleeper's  ribs,  but 
what  mattered  that?  To  the  English  boys 
especially  —  having  the  charm  of  entire  nov 
elty —  it  was  a  matchless  bed,  wholesome, 
restful,  and  rich  with  balsamic  odors  hitherto 
unknown. 

The  trio  were  stupidly  tired  ;  but  on  the 
American  continent  no  happier  or  healthier 
youths  could  have  been  found. 

It  had,  indeed,  been  a  night  big  with  ex 
periences  ;  and  there  was  one  still  to  come, 
which,  to  Neal  Farrar  at  any  rate,  was  as  novel 
as  the  rest.  He  had  thrown  himself  upon 
his  bough  couch,  too  weary  to  offer  anything 
but  the  gladness  of  his  heart  for  worship, 
when  Cyrus  touched  his  arm. 

"  Look  there  !  "  he  said.  "  If  a  fellow 
could  see  that  without  feeling  some  sensa 
tions  go  through  him  which  he  never  felt 
before,  he  wouldn't  be  worth  much !  " 

He  pointed  through  the  open  door  of  the 
hut  at  the  sky  above  the  clearing,  over  which 
was  stealing  a  pearly  hue  of  dawn,  shot  with 
a  tinge  of  rosy  light,  like  the  fire  in  the  heart 
of  an  opal. 

This  made  a  royal  canopy  over  the  tower- 


4°  Camp  and  Trail. 

ing  head  of  Old  Squaw  Mountain, —  near  by 
now  and  plainly  visible, — which  had  not  yet 
lost  its  starry  diadem,  though  the  gems  were 
paling  one  by  one.  The  shoulders  of  the 
peak  wore  a  mantle  of  purple,  and  the  forest 
which  clothed  its  bulk  was  changing  from  the 
blackness  of  a  mourning  robe  to  the  emerald 
green  of  a  sea-nymph's  drapery. 

The  shutters  of  Night  were  rolling  back, 
and  young  Day  was  stepping  out  to  cast  her 
first  smile  on  a  waiting  earth. 

As  the  watchers  in  the  hut  caught  that 
smile,  every  thought  which  rose  in  them  was 
a  daybreak  song  to  the  God  who  is  light,  and 
the  secret  of  every  dawning. 

With  the  day-smile  kissing  their  faces  they 
fell  asleep,  feeling  that  they  were  wrapped  in 
the  embrace  of  the  invisible  King. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

WHITHER    BOUND  ? 

"  \A/HERE  from  ?  whither  b°und  ? "  Tt 

V  V  is  not  often  that  a  man  or  boy 
burns  to  put  these  questions  —  which  ships 
signal  to  each  other  when  they  pass  upon  the 
ocean  —  to  some  individual  who  hurries  by 
him  on  a  crowded  thoroughfare,  whose  name 
perhaps  he  knows,  but  whose  hand  he  has 
never  clasped,  of  whose  thoughts,  feelings, 
and  capabilities  he  is  ignorant. 

But  just  let  him  meet  that  same  fellow  dur 
ing  a  holiday  trip  to  some  wild  sea-beach  or 
lonely  mountain,  let  an  acquaintance  spring 
up,  let  him  observe  the  habits  of  the  other 
traveller,  discovering  a  few  of  his  weak  points 
and  some  of  his  good  ones,  and  then  he  wishes 

41 


42  Camp  and  Trail. 

to  ask,  "  Where  do  you  hail  from?  Whither 
are  you  bound  ?  " 

Therefore,  having  encountered  three  fairly 
good-looking,  jovial,  well-disposed  young  fel 
lows  amid  the  solitudes  of  a  Maine  forest, 
having  spent  some  eventful  hours  in  their 
company,  learning  how  they  behaved  in  cer 
tain  emergencies,  it  is  but  natural  that  the 
reader  should  wish  to  know  their  ordinary 
occupations,  with  their  reasons  for  venturing 
into  these  wilds,  and  the  goal  they  wish  to 
reach,  before  he  journeys  with  them  farther. 

Just  at  present,  being  fast  asleep,  dreaming, 
and  —  if  I  must  say  it  —  snoring  like  troop 
ers,  upon  their  mattresses  of  pine  boughs, 
they  are  unable  to  give  any  information  about 
themselves.  But  the  friend  who  has  been 
authorized  to  record  their  travels  will  be 
happy  to  satisfy  all  reasonable  curiosity. 

To  begin,  then,  with  the  "boss"  of  the 
party,  Cyrus  Garst,  the  writer  would  say  that 
he  is  a  student  of  Harvard  University,  and 
a  brainy,  energetic,  robust  son  of  America. 
Among  his  college  classmates  he  is  regarded 
as  a  bit  of  a  hero  ;  for,  in  spite  of  his  compar 
ative  youth,  he  is  an  enterprising  traveller  and 
a  veteran  camper,  whose  camp-fire  has  blazed 
in  some  of  the  wildest  solitudes  of  his  native 


Whither  Bound?  43 

land.  For  his  hobby  is  natural  history,  and 
his  playground  the  "  forest  primeval,"  where 
he  studies  American  animals  amid  the  lonely 
passes  which  they  choose  for  their  lairs  and 
beats. 

Every  year  when  Harvard's  learned  halls 
are  closed  for  the  long  summer  vacation,  — 
sometimes  at  other  seasons  too,  —  he  starts 
off  on  a  trip  to  a  wilderness  region,  with  his 
knapsack  on  his  back,  his  rifle  on  his  shoul 
der,  and  often  carrying  his  camera  as  well. 

Once  in  a  while  he  has  been  accompanied 
by  a  bosom  friend  or  two.  More  frequently 
he  has  gone  alone,  hiring  the  services  of  a 
professional  guide  accustomed  to  the  locality 
he  visits.  Now,  such  a  guide  is  the  indispen 
sable  figure  in  every  woodland  trip.  He  is 
expected  to  supply  the  main  part  of  his  em 
ployer's  camp  "  kit"  ;  namely,  a  tent  or  some 
shelter  to  sleep  under,  cooking  utensils,  axes, 
etc.,  as  well  as  a  boat  or  canoe  if  such  be  re 
quired.  And  this  son  of  the  forest,  whose 
foot  can  make  a  bee-line  to  its  destination 
through  the  densest  wooded  maze,  is  not  only 
leader,  but  cook  and  general-utility  man  in 
camp  as  well.  The  guide  must  be  equally 
grand-master  of  paddle,  rifle,  and  frying-pan. 

For  these  tireless  woodland  heroes  Cyrus 


44  Camp  and  Trail. 

Garst  has  a  general  admiration.  He  has  al 
ways  agreed  with  them  famously — save  on 
one  point ;  and  he  has  never  had  to  shorten 
his  wanderings  for  fear  of  lengthening  their 
fees.  For  Cyrus  has  a  millionnaire  father  in 
the  Back  Bay  of  Boston,  who  is  disposed  to 
indulge  his  whims. 

The  one  point  of  variance  is  this :  while 
all  guides  admire  young  Garst  as  a  crack  shot 
with  a  rifle,  he  frequently  dumfounds  them 
by  letting  slip  stunning  chances  at  game,  big 
and  little.  They  call  him  "  a  queer  specimen 
sportsman,"  —  understanding  little  his  love 
for  the  wild  offspring  of  the  woods,  —  because 
he  never  uses  his  gun  save  when  the  bare 
ness  of  his  larder  or  the  peril  of  his  own  life 
or  his  chum's  demands  it. 

Nevertheless,  feeling  the  need  of  fresh 
meat,  the  naturalist  was  for  the  moment  hotly 
exasperated  because  his  English  comrade, 
Neal  Farrar,  missed  even  a  poor  chance  at  a 
buck  during  the  midnight  excursion  on  Squaw 
Pond. 

His  friends  are  proud  of  stating  that  up  to 
the  present  Cyrus  had  proceeded  well  in  his 
friendly  acquaintance  with  wild  creatures,  his 
desire  being  to  study  their  habits  when  alive 
rather  than  to  pore  over  their  anatomy  when 


Whither  Bound?  45 

dead.  And  he  has  always  reaped  a  plentiful 
harvest  of  fun  during  his  trips,  declaring  that 
he  has  "  the  pull  over  fellows  who  go  into  the 
woods  for  killing,"  seeing  that  he  can  thor 
oughly  enjoy  the  escape  of  a  game  animal  if 
he  can  only  catch  a  sight  of  it,  and  perceive 
how  its  pluck  or  cunning  enables  it  to  baffle 
pursuing  man.  There  are  those  who  call  Cy 
rus  a  sportsman  of  the  best  type.  Perhaps 
they  are  right. 

Yet  in  the  year  of  our  story,  when  he  had 
just  attained  his  majority,  this  student  of  for 
est  life  is  still  unsatisfied,  because  he  has  not 
been  able  to  obtain  a  good  view  of  the  be 
hemoth  of  American  woods,  the  ignis  fatuus 
of  hunters,  —  the  mighty  moose. 

Once  only,  when  paddling  on  a  still  pond 
with  his  experienced  guide  for  company,  the 
latter  suddenly  closed  the  slide  of  the  jack- 
lamp,  hiding  its  light.  At  the  same  moment 
a  dark,  splendid  monster,  tall  as  a  horse  and 
swinging  a  pair  of  antlers  five  feet  broad, 
suddenly  appeared  upon  the  bank,  near  to 
which  the  canoe  lay  in  black  shadow.  The 
hunters  dared  not  breathe.  It  was  at  a  sea 
son  of  year  when  the  Maine  law  exacts  a 
heavy  fine  for  the  killing  of  a  moose  ;  and 
even  the  guide  had  no  desire  to  send  his 


46  Camp  and  Trail. 

bullets  through  the  law,  though  he  might 
have  riddled  the  game  without  compunction. 

For  a  minute  or  two  the  creature  halted  at 
the  pond's  brink,  magnified  in  the  mirror  of 
moonlit  water  into  a  gigantic,  wavering  shape. 
Then  with  slow,  solemn  tread  he  walked  along 
the  bank  ahead,  gave  a  loud  snort  something 
like  the  snort  of  a  war-horse,  made  a  crunch 
ing,  chopping  noise  with  his  jaws,  resembling 
the  sound  of  a  dull  axe  striking  against  wood, 
plunged  into  the  lake,  and  swam  across  to  the 
opposite  shore. 

"If  we  had  fired,  he  might  have  come  for 
us  full  tilt,"  whispered  the  guide  so  softly  that 
his  words  were  like  a  gliding  breath.  "  And 
then  I  tell  you  we'd  have  had  a  narrow 
squeak.  He'd  have  kicked  the  canoe  into 
splinters  and  us  out  o'  time  in  short  order." 

"  But  a  moose  won't  charge  unless  he's 
attacked,  will  he  ?  "  asked  Cyrus,  later  in  the 
night,  when  a  couple  of  quacking  black  ducks 
which  had  received  a  dose  of  lead  were  lying 
silent  at  his  feet,  and  the  hunters  were  re 
turning  to  camp  with  food. 

"  Not  often,"  was  the  reply.  "  Only  at  this 
time  o'  year,  if  they've  got  a  mate  to  defend, 
you  can't  say  for  sure  what  they'll  do.  They 
won't  always  fight  either,  even  if  they're 


Whither  Bound?  47 

wounded,  when  they  can  get  a  chance  to  bolt. 
But  a  moose,  if  he  has  to  die,  will  be  sure  to 
die  game,  with  his  face  to  his  enemy ;  and  so 
will  every  wild  animal  that  I  know.  I've  even 
seen  a  shot  partridge  flutter  up  its  feathers 
like  a  game-cock  at  the  fellow  who  dropped 
it." 

Well,  this  memorable  glimpse  of  his  moose- 
ship  was  obtained  in  the  year  before  our  story. 
And  now,  in  the  beginning  of  October,  young 
Garst  was  off  into  Maine  wilds  again,  having 
arranged  to  "  do  "  the  forest  thoroughly  after 
his  usual  fashion,  seeing  all  he  could  of  its 
countless  phases  of  life,  and  finally  to  meet 
this  same  guide  —  a  dare-devil  fellow  who  was 
reported  to  have  had  adventures  in  moose- 
hunting  such  as  other  woodsmen  did  not 
dream  of — at  a  log  camp  far  in  the  wilder 
ness.  Thence  they  could  proceed  to  solitudes 
where  the  voice  of  man  seldom  echoed,  where 
the  foot  of  man  rarely  trod,  and  where  moose 
signs  were  pretty  sure  to  be  found. 

But  there  was  one  very  unusual  feature 
in  his  present  expedition.  The  student  of 
nature,  who  generally  started  forth  alone, 
was  this  year,  owing  to  a  freak  of  fate  and  to 
his  natural  good-nature,  accompanied  by  two 
English  lads. 


48  Camp  and  Trail. 

Early  in  the  summer  of  this  same  year, 
Francis  Farrar,  a  wealthy  cotton-merchant  of 
Manchester,  England,  visited  America  on  a 
business-trip,  and  became  the  guest  of  Cyrus's 
father.  He  brought  with  him  his  two  sons, 
Neal,  aged  sixteen  and  a  half,  and  Adolphus, 
familiarly  called  Dol,  who  was  more  than  a 
year  younger. 

Both  boys  had  been  at  a  large  public 
school,  and  physically,  as  well  as  mentally, 
were  well  developed.  They  were  accustomed 
to  spending  long  vacations  with  their  father 
at  wild  spots  on  the  seashore,  or  amid  moun 
tains  in  England  and  Scotland.  They  could 
tirelessly  do  a  sixty-mile  spin  on  their 
"  wheels,"  were  good  football  players,  excel 
lent  rowers,  formed  part  of  the  crew  of  their 
father's  yacht,  could  skilfully  handle  gun 
and  fishing-rod,  but  they  had  never  camped 
out. 

They  knew  none  of  the  delights  of  sleep 
ing  in  woodland  quarters,  with  only  a  canvas 
or  bark  roof,  or  perhaps  a  few  spruce  boughs, 
between  them  and  the  sky  — 

"  While  a  music  wild  and  solemn 

From  the  pine-tree's  height 
Rolls  its  vast  and  sea-like  volume 
On  the  wind  of  night." 


Whither  Bound?  49 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  when  they  heard 
Cyrus  Garst  tell  of  his  camping  excursions, 
of  his  jolly  times,  long  tramps,  and  hair 
breadth  escapes,  their  hearts  swelled  with  a 
tremendous  longing  to  accompany  him  on  the 
trip  into  northern  Maine  which  he  was  then 
projecting  for  the  following  October. 

Now,  Cyrus  at  the  first  start-off  conceived 
a  liking  for  these  English  fellows,  to  whom, 
for  his  father's  sake,  he  played  the  part  of 
genial  host.  With  a  lordly  recognition  of  his 
superior  years  he  pronounced  them  "  first- 
rate  youngsters,  with  lots  of  snap  in  them." 
And  as  the  acquaintance  progressed,  Neal 
Farrar,  with  his  erect  figure,  broad  chest, 
musical  voice,  and  wide-apart  gray  eyes,  — 
so  clear  and  honest  that  their  glance  was  a 
beam, —  proved  a  personage  so  likable  that 
the  student  adopted  him  as  "  chum,"  forget 
ting  those  five  years  which  had  been  a  gulf 
between  them. 

Dol,  whose  eyes  were  of  a  more  steely  hue 
than  his  brother's,  striking  fire  readily  and 
showing  all  manner  of  flinty  lights,  who  had 
a  downright  talent  for  mimicry,  and  a  small 
share  of  juvenile  self-importance,  came  in  for 
regard  of  a  more  indulgent  and  less  equal 
nature. 


50  Camp  and  Trail. 

Directly  he  got  an  inkling  of  the  desire 
for  a  forest  trip  which  stirred  in  the  boys' 
breasts,  making  them  yearn  all  day  and  toss 
all  night,  Cyrus  gave  them  both  a  cordial  in 
vitation  to  accompany  him  into  Maine.  Mr. 
Farrar  did  not  purpose  returning  to  Europe 
till  midwinter.  His  consent  was  easily  ob 
tained.  He  presented  each  of  his  sons  with 
a  new  Winchester  repeating  rifle,  with  which 
they  practised  diligently  at  a  target  ere  the 
eventful  day  of  the  start  dawned,  though 
their  leader  emphatically  insisted  that  the 
prime  pleasures  of  the  trip  were  not  to  be 
looked  for  in  the  slaughter  done  by  their 
hands. 

Wearing  the  camper's  favorite  dress  of 
stout  gray  tweed,  the  trio  left  Boston  on  a 
lovely  September  evening  towards  the  close 
of  the  month,  taking  a  fast  night  train  for 
Maine,  brimful  of  enthusiasm  about  the  wild 
woods  and  free  camp-life.  The  hue  of  their 
clothes  was  chosen  with  a  view  to  making 
their  figures  resemble  the  forest  trunks,  so 
that  they  would  be  less  likely  to  attract  the 
notice  of  animals,  and  might  get  a  chance  to 
creep  upon  them  undetected. 

About  their  waists  were  their  ammunition 
belts,  with  pouches  well  stocked.  Their  large 


Whither  Bound?  51 

knapsacks  contained  blankets,  moccasins,  and 
various  other  necessaries  of  a  camper's  out 
fit,  including  heavy  knitted  jerseys  for  chill 
days  and  nights,  and  rubber  boots  reaching 
hio-h  on  the  leofs  for  wear  in  wading  and  tra- 

fc>  o  o 

versing  swampy  tracts. 

About  twenty-four  hours  later  they  dropped 
off  the  rattling,  jingling  stage-coach  which 
bore  them  over  the  latter  part  of  their  jour 
ney,  at  the  flourishing  village  of  Greenville, 
on  the  borders  of  the  Maine  wilds. 

Here  they  were  greeted  by  a  view,  the 
loveliness  of  which  made  the  English  boys, 
who  had  never  looked  on  it  before,  experi 
ence  strange  heart-leaps. 

A  magnificent  sheet  of  water  nearly  forty 
miles  long  and  fourteen  broad  lay  before 
them,  studded  with  islands,  girt  with  ever 
green  forests  and  wooded  peaks.  Under  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  its  bosom  was  shot 
with  arrows  of  pale,  quivering  gold.  Banners 
of  gold  and  flame-color  floated  over  the  crests 
of  the  hills,  flinging  streamers  of  light  down 
their  emerald  sides. 

"  Fellows,  there  is  Moosehead  Lake  ;  and 
I  guess  you'll  find  few  lakes  in  America  or 
elsewhere  that  can  beat  it  for  beauty,"  said 
Cyrus,  with  a  patriotic  thrill  in  his  voice,  for 


52  Camp  and  Trail. 

he  had  a  feeling  that  he  was  doing  the  honors 
of  his  country. 

His  English  comrades  were  warm  with  ad 
miration,  and  here,  in  view  of  the  forest-land 
which  was  their  El  Dorado,  tingled  with  an 
ticipation  of  the  unknown. 

The  three  rested  that  night  at  Greenville, 
and  began  their  tramping  on  the  following 
morning.  They  trudged  a  distance  of  seven 
miles  or  so  to  the  camp  of  Ebenezer  Grout, 
which,  as  Garst  knew,  was  situated  between 
Squaw  Pond  and  Old  Squaw  Mountain,  the 
latter  being  one  of  the  finest  peaks  near 
Moosehead  Lake. 

"Uncle  Eb"  was  an  old  acquaintance  of 
Cyrus's,  a  dusky,  lively  woodsman,  who  spent 
a  great  part  of  the  year  in  his  lone  bark  hut, 
with  his  dog  Tiger  for  company.  He  sub 
sisted  chiefly  on  what  he  brought  down  with 
his  rifle,  and  sometimes  earned  three  dollars 
a  day  for  guiding  tourists  up  Old  Squaw  or 
through  the  adjacent  forests. 

He  was  not  an  ambitious  hunter,  and  rarely 
pushed  far  into  the  solitudes  of  the  wilderness 
in  search  of  moose  or  other  big  game.  A 
coon  hunt  was  to  him  the  climax  of  all  fun. 
It  was  chiefly  with  a  hope  that  his  comrades 
might  enjoy  some  novel  entertainment  of  this 


Whither  Bound?  53 

kind  that  Cyrus  made  his  first  stoppage  at 
Uncle  Eb's  camp,  purposing  to  sojourn  there 
for  a  few  days. 

He  was  not  disappointed. 

The  stupidly  tired  trio  had  slept  for  about 
two  hours,  while  the  reader  has  been  receiv 
ing  information  second-hand  about  their  past 
and  future,  when  a  scratching,  scraping,  bor 
ing  noise  on  the  outside  of  their  bark  roof 
temporarily  disturbed  their  slumbers.  Dol 
called  out  noisily,  and,  as  was  the  way  of  that 
youngster  on  sundry  occasions,  talked  some 
gibberish  in  his  sleep.  The  scraping  in 
stantly  ceased. 

A  renewed  and  blissful  season  of  snoring. 
Another  awakening.  More  music  on  the 
roof,  evidently  caused  by  the  claws  of  some 
wild  animal,  while  each  of  the  campers  was 
startled  by  a  loucl  "Cluck!" 

"Lie  still,  fellows!  Don't  budge.  Let's 
see  what  the  thing  is,"  breathed  Cyrus  in  a 
peculiarly  still  whisper  which  he  had  learned 
from  his  moose-hunting  guide  of  whom  men 
tion  has  been  made. 

Dead  silence  in  the  hut.  Redoubled  scrap 
ing  and  rattling  above,  with  a  scattering  of 
bark  chips. 

Then  light  appeared  through  a  jagged  hole 


54  Camp  and  Trail. 

just  over  a  string  which  was  stretched  across 
one  corner  of  the  cabin,  and  from  which  dan 
gled  sundry  articles  of  camp  bric-a-brac, 
mostly  of  a  tinny  nature,  with  Uncle  Eb's 
last  morsel  of  pork. 

"  By  all  that's  glorious !  it's  a  coon," 
breathed  Cyrus,  but  so  softly  that  his  com 
panions  did  not  hear. 

As  for  the  two  Farrars,  they  were  working 
up  to  such  a  heat  of  excitement  that  they  felt 
as  if  life  were  now  only  beginning.  They  had 
heard  of  the  thievish  raids  made  by  the  black 
bear  on  unprotected  camps,  and  of  his  special 
fondness  for  pork.  Not  knowing  that  there 
was  no  chance  of  an  encounter  with  Bruin  so 
near  to  civilization  as  this,  they  peered  at 
that  hole  in  the  roof,  expecting  every  moment 
to  see  a  huge,  black,  snarling  snout  thrust 
through  it. 

It  was  a  pointed  gray  muzzle  which  warily 
appeared  instead  —  appeared  and  disappeared 
on  the  instant.  For  at  this  crisis  Tiger's 
shrill  bugle-call  resounded  without,  giving 
warning  of  an  attack  on  the  camp.  The 
thing,  whatever  it  was,  scrambled  from  the 
roof,  and  with  a  strange,  shrill  cry  of  one  note 
made  towards  the  woods.  The  dog  followed 
it,  barking  for  all  he  was  worth. 


Whither  Bound?  55 

Now,  too,  Uncle  Eb's  booming  "  Whoop 
ee  ! "  was  heard. 

The  hardy  old  woodsman,  after  his  visitors 
had  gone  to  roost,  instead  of  stretching  him 
self  as  usual  upon  his  pine  mattress,  had 
started  off,  accompanied  by  Tiger,  to  visit 
some  traps  which  he  had  set  in  the  forest, 
hoping  to  catch  a  marten  or  two.  He  took 
the  precaution  of  closing  the  door  of  the  hut 
when  he  saw  that  its  inmates  were  soundly 
sleeping,,  thinking  meanwhile,  that,  as  day 
was  dawning,  there  was  little  chance  of  any 
wild  "critter"  coming  round  the  camp  during 
his  absence. 

But  a  greedy  raccoon,  which  had  been 
prowling  near  in  the  woods  during  the  night, 
and  had  been  tantalized  to  desperation  by  the 
smell  of  the  late  meal,  especially  by  the  odor 
of  flapjacks  frying  in  pork  fat,  had  stolen 
from  cover  after  the  departure  of  his  natural 
enemy,  the  dog. 

Finding  the  coast  clear  and  the  camp  un 
guarded,  he  made  himself  quietly  at  home, 
rooted  among  some  potato  parings  which 
the  guide  had  thrown  aside  a  day  or  two 
before,  devoured  a  cold  flapjack,  and  cleaned 
the  camp  frying-pan  as  it  had  never  been 
cleaned  before,  with  his  tongue.  But  his 


56  Camp  and  Trail. 

appetite  was  whetted,  not  glutted.  Scent  or 
instinct  told  him  that  pork,  molasses,  and 
other  eatables  were  hidden  in  the  bark  hut. 
Here  was  a  golden  opportunity  for  Mr.  Coon. 
No  one  molested  him.  Meditating  a  feast, 
he  climbed  to  the  roof,  and  began  cautiously 
to  scrape  off  portions  of  the  bark.  The  ris 
ing  sun  ought  to  have  warned  him  back  to 
forest  depths  ;  but  he  persisted  in  his  scratch 
ing,  repeating  now  and  again  a  satisfied  cluck. 

His  hole  was  made.  His  keen  nose  told 
him  that  pork  was  almost  within  reach,  when 
the  bugle-call  of  his  enemy  —  Tiger's  chal 
lenging  bark  —  smote  upon  his  ear.  Guide 
and  dog  were  opportunely  returning  to  camp. 

Of  course,  as  soon  as  the  marauder  scram 
bled  off  the  roof,  Cyrus  and  the  boys  sprang 
from  their  couch.  Barefooted,  and  in  night 
costume,  they  were  already  at  the  door  of  the 
hut  before  Uncle  Eb  was  heard  booming,  — 

"  Boys  !  Boys  !  Tumble  out  —  tumble  out ! 
Dere's  a  reg'lar  razzle-dazzle  fight  goin'  on 
heah.  Tiger's  nabbed  de  coon." 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    COON    HUNT. 

A  RAZZLE-DAZZLE  fight  it  surely  was! 
/v  On  one  side  of  the  camp,  between  the 
camping-ground,  which  Uncle  Eb  had  cleared 
with  many  a  backache,  and  the  woods,  was  a 
narrow  strip  covered  with  a  stunted,  prickly 
growth  of  wild  raspberry  bushes  and  tiny 
cherry-trees.  These  had  sprung  up  after  the 
pines  had  been  cut  down,  as  soon  as  the  sun 
peeped  at  the  long-hidden  earth. 

Into  it  the  bare-legged  trio  dared  not  ven 
ture,  knowing  that  they  would  get  a  worse 
scratching  and  tearing  than  if  the  coon  itself 
mauled  them. 

But  they  could  see  and  hear  a  whirling, 
howling,  clawing,  spitting,  rough-and-tumble 

57 


58  Camp  and  Trail. 

conflict  going  on  in  the  midst  of  this  minia 
ture  jungle. 

"Whew  !  Whew  !  "  gasped  Cyrus.  "  Here's 
your  first  sight  of  a  wild  coon,  boys.  I  wish 
to  goodness  it  had  been  a  different  sight,  but 
I  suppose  he  must  pay  for  his  thieving." 

"  Tiger'll  make  him  do  dat.  Bet  yer  life 
he  will !  He's  death  on  coons,  if  ever  a  dog 
was,"  yelled  Uncle  Eb,  gambolling  with  ex 
citement,  his  eyes  bulging  and  widening  un 
til  they  looked  like  oysters  on  the  shell. 

The  soft,  battered,  gray  felt  hat  which  re 
placed  his  fur  cap  in  the  daytime  surged  off 
his  gray  wool,  and  frisked  gently  away  towards 
the  camp-fire.  There,  coming  in  contact  with 
a  red  ember,  it  scorched  and  shrivelled  into 
smoking,  smelling  ashes,  all  unnoticed  in  the 
tumult  of  the  fio-ht. 

o 

Whirling  round  and  round,  now  under,  now 
over,  dog  and  coon  rolled  presently  forth 
from  the  bushes,  nearer  to  the  feet  of  the 
spectators.  Then  Neal  and  Dol  could  get  a 
clearer  view  of  the  strange  animal.  A  breeze 
of  exclamations  came  from  them,  mingling 
with  the  yelping,  snarling,  and  clucking  of 
the  combatants. 

"  Good  gracious  !  Look  at  the  stout  body 
and  funny  little  legs  of  the  fellow !  " 


A   Coon  Hunt.  59 

"  Doesn't  he  fight  like  a  spitfire  ?  " 
"  I'm  glad  he's  not  clawing  me  !  " 
"  He's  not  much  like  any  picture  of  a  rac 
coon  I  ever  saw  in  a  Natural  History !  " 

"  I  guess  he  wouldn't  resemble  them  great 
ly,  especially  in  that  attitude,  Dol,"  said  Cy 
rus,  as  soon  as  there  was  a  lull  in  the  boys' 
comments. 

The  raccoon  had  now  rolled  on  his  back, 
and  was  fighting  so  fiercely  with  teeth  and 
claws  that  a  despairing  cry  broke  from  Uncle 
Eb,— 

"  Yah  !  He's  makin'  Tiger's  wool  fly  !  " 
It  was  then  that  the  old  guide  began  to 
deliberate  about  rushing  forward  and  des 
patching  his  coonship  with  the  butt  end  of 
his  rifle.  Cyrus  would  gladly  have  stopped 
the  tussle  long  before,  for  there  was  too  much 
savagery  about  it  to  suit  him  ;  but  he  could 
only  have  done  so  by  stunning  or  killing  one 
of  the  combatants. 

A  heart-rending  howl  from  Tiger.  The 
coon  had  caught  him  by  his  lower  jaw.  Un 
cle  Eb,  clutching  his  empty  rifle  like  a  club, 
was  starting  to  the  rescue,  when  the  dog  with 
a  sudden,  desperate  jerk  freed  himself.  Mad 
with  rage  and  pain,  he  tried  to  seize  the  rac 
coon's  throat.  But  his  enemy  managed  to 


60  Camp  and  Trail. 

elude  the  strangling  grip,  and  getting  on  his 
feet,  again  caught  Tiger,  this  time  by  the 
cheek,  causing  another  agonizing  yelp. 

Now,  however,  the  undaunted  dog  whirled 
round  and  round  with  such  rapidity  as  to 
make  Mr.  Coon  relax  his  hold,  and,  gather 
ing  all  his  strength,  flung  the  wild  animal  off 
to  a  distance  of  several  feet. 

Probably  the  raccoon  felt  that  he  had 
enough  of  the  conflict,  and  was  doubtful 
about  its  final  issue.  He  seized  the  chance 
for  escape.  While  the  spectators  gasped  with 
excitement,  they  beheld  him,  with  his  head 
doubled  under  his  stomach,  roll  over  and  over 
like  a  huge  gray  India-rubber  ball,  until  he 
reached  the  nearest  tree,  which  happened  to 
be  one  of  the  young  pines  that  shaded  the 
camp.  Quick  as  lightning  he  climbed  up 
its  trunk,  uttering  a  second  shrill,  far-reaching 
cry  of  one  note. 

"  Listen  !  Listen,  fellows  !  "  cried  Cyrus. 
"  That  raccoon  is  a  ventriloquist.  The  cry 
seemed  to  come  from  somewhere  far  above 
him.  I  had  a  tame  coon  long  ago,  and  I 
often  heard  him  call  like  that.  I  tell  you  he's 
a  ventriloquist,  and  a  mighty  clever  one  too. 

"  The  one  piercing  note  was  to  warn  his 
mate,"  went  on  the  naturalist,  after  a  mo- 


A  Coon  Hunt.  61 

ment's  pause  ;  "  or  in  all  probability,  though 
we  have  been  speaking  of  the  animal  as  '  he,' 
it  is  really  a  female,  for  I  have  heard  that  pe 
culiar  call  given  more  frequently  by  a  mother 
to  warn  her  cubs." 

All  that  could  now  be  seen  of  the  animal 

—  on  whose  gender  new  light  had  been  cast 

—  was  a  gray  ball  curled  up  on  a  tasselled 
bough  near  the  top  of  the  pine-tree,  and  a 
glimpse  of  a  black  nose  over  the  edge  of  the 
limb. 

"  Wai !  'tain't  no  matter  wedder  de  critter 
is  a  male  or  a  fimmale  ;  I'm  a-goin'  to  bring 
it  down  from  clar  mighty  quick,"  said  Uncle 
Eb,  fumbling  with  the  cartridge-box  which 
was  attached  to  his  broad  leather  belt,  and 
preparing  to  load  his  rifle,  while  he  cast  mur 
derous  looks  aloft. 

"  No,  you  don't,  then  !  "  said  Cyrus  hotly. 
"  The  creature  has  fought  pluckily,  and  it 
deserves  to  get  a  fair  chance  for  its  life.  I'll 
see  that  it  does  too.  You  oughtn't  to  be  hard 
on  it  for  liking  pork,  Uncle  Eb." 

"  Coons  will  be  gittin'  into  eatin'  order 
soon,"  murmured  the  guide,  smacking  his  lips, 
and  handling  his  gun  undecidedly.  "  Roast 
coon's  a  heap  better'n  roast  lamb." 

"  Well,  they're  not  in  eating  order  yet,  and 


62  Camp  and  Trail. 

won't  be  till  next  month,"  answered  Garst. 
"  Come,  you've  got  to  let  this  one  go,  Uncle 
Eb,  to  please  me." 

-Tell  ye  wot:  I'll  call  Tiger  off"  (Tiger 
was  alternately  licking  his  wounds  and  baying 
furiously  for  vengeance  about  the  tree  which 
sheltered  his  enemy),  "den,  wen  de  coon 
finds  de  place  clear,  bime-by  he'll  light  down 
from  dat  limb,  I'll  start  off  de  dog,  and  let 
'em  finish  de  game  atween  'em." 

Cyrus  considered  for  a  minute,  then  de 
cided  that  on  the  coon's  behalf  he  might 
safely  accept  the  compromise. 

"  Let's  get  into  our  clothes,  fellows  !  "  he 
cried  to  Neal  and  Dol.  "  Now  we're  going 
to  have  some  fair  fun  !  I  guess  there  won't 
be  any  more  fighting ;  and  I  want  you  to  see 
how  cunningly  the  raccoon  will  cheat  the  dog 
and  escape,  if  he  gets  an  even  chance." 

In  five  minutes  the  trio  were  out  of  their 
blankets  and  in  their  ordinary  day  apparel. 
The  old  guide  had  hung  the  wet  tweeds  to 
dry  by  the  blazing  camp-fire  before  he  started 
out  to  visit  his  traps,  carefully  stretching 
them  to  prevent  their  "swunking"  (shrink 
ing).  Thus  they  were  again  fit  for  wear. 

A  half-hour  of  waiting  ensued,  during 
which  every  one  was  on  the  tiptoe  of  expec- 


A   Coon  Hunt.  63 

tation.  They  had  all  withdrawn  to  some  dis 
tance  from  the  tree.  Uncle  Eb  had  been 
obliged  to  drag  Tiger  away,  and  was  bathing 
his  cuts  out  of  the  camp  water-bucket  in  a 
shady  corner.  The  dog,  recognizing  that  he 
was  a  patient,  submitted  without  a  growl  or 
budge,  until  his  master,  who  had  been  keep 
ing  a  keen  eye  on  that  pine-tree,  suddenly 
loosed  him,  and  started  him  off  afresh  with  a 
loud  "  Whoop-ee  !  "  and  a  — 

"  Ketch  him,  Tiger  !  ketch  him!" 

The  coon  had  "lighted  down." 

Away  went  the  wild  creature  into  the 
woods.  Away  after  him,  went  dog,  guide, 
student,  and  boys,  plunging,  tumbling,  rush 
ing  along  helter-skelter,  with  a  yell  on  every 

HP. 

"  There  he  is!  See  him?  That  gray  ball 
rolling  over  and  over  !  "  shouted  Cyrus.  "  I'll 
tell  you  what,  now ;  he's  going  to  resort  to 
his  clever  dodge  of  '  barking  a  tree.'  There 
never  was  a  general  yet  who  could  beat  a 
coon  for  strategy  in  making  a  retreat." 

The  forest  surrounding  the  eminence  on 
which  Uncle   Eb's   camp    was   situated   con 
sisted  mostly  of  pines,  with  here  and  there 
the  brilliant  autumn   foliage  of  a  maple   or 


64  Camp  and  Trail. 

birch  showing  amid  the  evergreens.  The 
trees  down  the  sides  of  the  hill  were  not 
densely  crowded,  but  grew  in  irregular  clumps 
instead  of  an  unbroken  mass.  This,  of  course, 
afforded  a  better  opportunity  for  the  pursuers 
to  catch  glimpses  of  the  fugitive  animal. 

On  finding  that  it  was  again  chased,  the 
raccoon  at  first  took  shelter  in  a  dense  thicket 
of  scrub  oak,  which  formed  in  places  a  tan 
gled  undergrowth.  Tiger  quickly  followed 
up  its  trail,  and  it  was  driven  thence. 

Then  Cyrus  and  the  boys  caught  sight  of 
it  spinning  over  and  over  like  a  ball,  towards 
a  maple-tree  with  widely  projecting  limbs  and 
thick  foliage  ;  for  it  knew  well  that  in  speed 
it  was  no  match  for  the  dog,  and  therefore 
resorted  to  a  neat  little  stratagem.  The  next 
minute,  being  hotly  pressed,  it  scrambled  up 
the  friendly  trunk. 

"  He's  treed  again,  yonkers  !  Come  on  !  " 
shouted  the  guide,  indifferent  to  the  crea 
ture's  probable  gender. 

Tiger  sat  on  his  haunches  at  the  foot  of 
the  maple,  setting  up  a  slow,  steady  bark. 

"Keep  where  you  are,  fellows!  Watch 
the  other  side  of  the  tree  !  "  whispered  Cyrus, 
his  face  twitching  with  excitement. 

In  his  character  of  naturalist  he  had  man- 


A   Coon  Hunt.  65 

aged  to  find  out  more  about  the  coon's  vari 
ous  dodges  than  even  the  old  guide  had  done. 

In  breathless  wonder  the  Farrars  presently 
beheld  that  ingenious  raccoon  steal  along  to 
the  end  of  the  most  projecting  limb  on  a  dif 
ferent  side  of  the  tree  from  the  one  it  had 
climbed,  so  that  a  screen  of  boughs  and  the 
trunk  were  between  it  and  its  adversary. 

Then  it  noiselessly  dropped  from  the  tip  of 
the  branch  to  the  ground,  alighting,  like  a 
skilled  acrobat,  on  its  shoulders,  doubled  its 
pointed  black  nose  under  its  stomach,  and 
again  rolled  over  and  over  for  a  considerable 
distance,  when  it  got  on  its  short  legs  and 
scurried  away,  while  Tiger  still  bayed  at  the 
foot  of  the  maple-tree,  thinking  the  vanished 
prey  was  above. 

"  That's  what  I  called  the  coon's  dodge  of 
'barking  a  tree,'"  said  Cyrus.  "  Don't  you 
see,  when  hard  pressed,  he  runs  up  the  trunk, 
leaving  his  scent  on  the  bark ;  then  he  creeps 
to  the  other  side  under  cover  of  the  foliage, 
and  drops  quietly  to  the  ground.  So  he 
breaks  the  scent  and  cheats  the  dog." 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  exclaimed  Neal  with  an 
expressive  whistle. 

11  Perhaps  it's  because  of  his  long  gray  hairs 
that  he  has  so  much  wisdom,"  Dol  suggested. 


66  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  A  bright  idea,  Chick !  "  chuckled  the  stu 
dent,  tapping  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"  We  keep  on  speaking  of  him  as  'he' 
when  you  said  the  thing  was  probably  a 
female,"  put  in  Neal. 

"  That  doesn't  matter.  I'm  not  certain. 
Look  at  old  Tiger !  He's  having1  fits  now 

o  o 

that  he  has  discovered  how  he's  been  tricked." 

The  dog  was  circling  out  from  the  tree, 
with  wild,  uncertain  movements,  nosing  every 
where.  Presently  he  struck  the  scent  again, 
and  darted  off  like  a  streak. 

But  the  raccoon  had  by  this  time  reached 
a  dark  stream  of  water  which  coursed  through 
the  over-arching  forest  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
as  if  it  was  flowing  through  a  tunnel.  Here 
this  astute  animal  crossed  and  recrossed  un 
der  the  gloom  of  interlocking  trees,  mid  dense 
undergrowth,  until  its  trail  was  altogether  lost. 

Tiger,  having  further  "  fits,"  nosing  about, 
darting  hither  and  thither,  venting  short,  baf 
fled  barks,  finally  gave  up  in  despair. 

The  pursuing  party  turned  back  to  camp. 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  ennyting  to  ekal  de  cun- 
nin'  o'  de  critter,"  said  Uncle  Eb  gloomily; 
"  runnin'  up  dat  tree  on'y  to  jump  off,  so  as 
he'd  break  de  scent  an'  fool  de  dog  ?  Ye'll 
learn  a  heap  o'  queer  tings  in  dese  woods, 


A   Coon  Hunt.  67 

chillun,  'fore  ye  get  t'rough,"  he  added,  ad 
dressing  the  English  lads. 

"  We've  learned  queerer  things  than  we 
ever  imagined  or  dreamed  of,  already,  Uncle 
Eb,"  Neal  answered. 

Meanwhile,  Cyrus  and  Dol  had  begun  to 
discuss  the  size  of  the  escaped  coon. 

"  I  should  think  it  measured  about  two 
feet  from  the  tip  of  its  nose  to  the  beginning 
of  the  tail,  and  that  would  add  ten  or  eleven 
inches.  Probably  it  weighed  over  thirty 
pounds,"  said  the  experienced  Garst. 

"A  fine  tail  it  had  too!"  answered  Dol;" 
"  all  ringed  with  black  and  buff — not  black 

o 

and  white  as  the  books  say.  There  was 
hardly  an  inch  of  white  about  the  animal 
anywhere.  Its  thick  gray  hair  was  marked 
here  and  there  with  black  ;  wasn't  it,  Cy  ?  " 

"  Rather  with  a  darker  shade  of  gray,  bor 
dering  on  black.  I  think  old  Tiger  can  tes 
tify  that  the  creature  had  capable  teeth ;  and 
it  possesses  a  goodly  number  of  them  —  forty 
in  all ;  that's  only  two  less  than  a  bear,  an 
animal  that  might  make  six  of  it  in  size." 

"  Whew  !  No  wonder  it's  a  good  fighter  !  " 
ejaculated  Dol. 

"  But  the  funniest  of  the  coon's  or  —  to 
give  the  animal  its  proper  name  —  the  rac- 


68  Camp  and  Trail. 

coon's  funny  habits  is,  that  while  it  eats  any 
thing  and  everything,  it  souses  all  meat  in 
water  before  beginning  a  feed.  That's  what 
it  would  have  clone  with  our  bit  of  pork,  — 
dragged  it  to  a  stream,  and  washed  it  well 
before  swallowing  a  morsel. 

"  I  caught  glimpses  of  a  raccoon  chasing  a 
jack-rabbit  in  this  very  section  of  the  woods, 
last  year,"  went  on  the  student,  seeing  that 
Dol  was  breathlessly  listening.  "The  big  an 
imal  killed  the  little  one  under  a  dead  limb ; 
and  I  traced  its  tracks  through  some  mud, 
where  it  tugged  the  rabbit  to  the  brink  of  the 
nearest  brook  to  be  dipped  and  devoured. 

"  After  the  meal,  Mr.  Coon  halted  on  an 
old  bit  of  stump  as  gray  as  himself,  close  to 
where  I  lay  under  cover,  trying  to  get  a  peep 
at  his  operations,  but,  unluckily,  in  my  excite 
ment  I  touched  a  bush,  and  broke  a  twig  not 
as  big  as  my  little  finger.  I  tell  you  he  just 
jumped  off  that  stump  as  if  it  scorched  him, 
and  disappeared." 

"  What  about  that  tame  coon  you  owned, 
Cy?"  Dol  asked.  "You  haven't  got  him 


now." 


"Bless  your  heart,  I  should  think  not!" 
Here  the  student  indulged  in  a  chuckle  of 
mirth.  "  That  coon  was  the  fun  and  bane 


A   Coon  Hunt.  69 

of  my  life.  No  fear  of  my  being  dull  while 
I  had  him !  I  had  him  as  a  present,  when  he 
was  only  a  cub,  from  a  man  out  here  who 
is  my  special  chum  among1  woodsmen,  Herb 
Heal,  the  guide  in  whose  company  we're  go 
ing  to  explore  for  moose,  and  the  soundest 
fellow  in  wind,  limb,  and  temper  that  ever  I 
had  the  luck  to  meet.  I  guess  you  English 
boys  will  say  the  same  when  you  know  him. 

"  Well !  when  my  friend  Herb  bestowed 
upon  me  that  baby  raccoon,  I  called  the  little 
innocent  '  Zip/  and  kept  him  in-doors,  letting 
him  roam  at  will.  But  after  he  grew  to  man 
hood,  I  was  obliged  to  banish  him  to  our 
yard  and  chain  him  up ;  and  there  his  pite 
ous,  sky-piercing  calls,  which  seemed  to  come 
from  the  roof  of  a  house  near  him,  first 
showed  me  what  a  ventriloquist  the  animal 
can  be." 

"Why  on  earth  did  you  banish  him?" 
asked  Neal. 

"  Because  his  plan  of  campaign,  when 
loose,  was  to  follow  me  about  like  a  devoted 
cat,  climbing  over  me  whenever  he  got  the 
chance,  with  slobbery  fondness.  But  as  soon 
as  I  was  out  of  the  way  he'd  steal  every  mor 
tal  thing  I  possessed,  from  my  most  precious 
instruments  to  my  latest  tie  and  handkerchiefs. 


70  Camp  and  Trail. 

I  never  saw  anything-  to  equal  his  ingenuity 
in  ferreting  out  such  articles,  and  his  incorri 
gible  mischief  in  destroying  them.  I  chained 
him  in  the  yard  after  he  had  torn  my  father's 
silk  hat  into  shreds,  and  made  off  with  his  fa 
vorite  spectacles.  Whether  he  wore  them  or 
not  I  don't  know  ;  he  chewed  up  the  case  ;  the 
glasses  no  man  thereafter  saw.  I  couldn't 
endure  his  piteous  cries  for  reconciliation 
while  he  was  in  banishment,  so  I  gave  him 
away  to  a  friend  who  was  suffering  from  an 
imaginary  ailment,  and  needed  rousing. 

"  Talking  of  fathers,  boys,  reminds  me  that 
I  feel  responsible  to  Francis  Farrar,  Esq.,  for 
the  welfare  of  his  lusty  sons.  Neal  had  a 
pretty  tiring  time  last  night,  and  only  about 
two  hours'  sleep  since.  I  don't  suppose  any 
of  us  are  outrageously  hungry,  seeing  that  we 
had  some  kind  of  breakfast  at  an  unearthly 
hour.  Here  we  are  at  camp  !  I  propose 
that  we  turn  in,  and  try  to  sleep  until  noon. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Their  leader  having  wound  up  his  talk 
thus,  neither  of  his  comrades  ventured  to 
oppose  his  suggestion,  though  they  felt  little 
inclined  for  slumber. 

"  Pleasant  day-dreams  to  you,  fellows  !  " 
said  Cyrus  three  minutes  afterwards,  fling- 


A  Coon  Hunt.  71 

ing  off  his  coat,  and  throwing  himself  on  his 
mattress  of  boughs,  while  he  wiped  the  steady 
drip  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead  and 
cheeks.  "  This  day  is  going  to  be  too  warm 
for  any  more  rushing.  Our  variable  climate 
occasionally  gives  us  these  hot  spells  up  to 
the  middle  of  October ;  but  they  don't  last. 
So  much  the  better  for  us  !  We  don't  want 
sizzling  days  and  oppressive  nights,  with  mos 
quitoes  and  black  flies  to  make  us  miserable. 
October  in  this  country  is  the  camper's  ideal 
—  month  "  — 

The  last  sentence  was  broken  by  a  great 
yawn,  followed  presently  by  a  snort  and  an 
attempt  at  a  shout,  which  quavered  away  into 
a  queer  little  whine.  Garst  had  passed  into 
dreamland,  where  men  revel  in  fragmentary 
memories  and  pell-mell  visions. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AFTER    BLACK    DUCKS. 

IF  Cyrus's   dreams   were   ruffled    after  the 
morning's  excitement,  those  of  his  com 
rades  were  a  perfect  chaos. 

A  slight  wind  hummed  wordless  songs 
through  the  tasselled  tops  of  the  pine-trees 
about  the  camp.  The  music  was  tender  and 
drowsy  as  a  mother's  lullaby.  Contrary  to 
their  expectations,  Neal  and  Dol  were  lulled 
to  sleep  by  it  like  babies,  with  a  feeling  as  if 
some  guardian  spirit  were  gliding  among  the 
tree-tops. 

But  when  slumber  held  them,  when  the 
murmur  increased  to  a  surge  of  sound,  sank 
to  a  ripple  and  again  rolled  forth,  in  their 
dreams  they  imagined  it  the  scurrying  of  a 

72 


After  Black  Ducks.  73 

deer's  hoofs  along  some  lonely  forest  deer- 
path,  the  rustling  of  a  buck  through  bushes, 
the  splashing  of  a  mighty  moose  among  lily- 
pads  and  grasses  at  the  margin  of  a  dark 
pond,  the  startled  cluck  of  a  coon.  In  fact, 
that  rolling  music  of  the  pines  was  translated 
into  every  forest  sound  which  they  had  heard, 
or  expected  to  hear. 

The  excitement  of  wild  scenes,  new  sensa 
tions,  strange  knowledge,  still  thrilled  them 
even  in  sleep.  Their  visions  were  accord 
ingly  wild,  rushing,  jumbled,  yet  all  set  in  a 
light  so  bright  as  to  be  bewildering  —  a  sign 
that  health  and  happiness  as  great  as  human 
boys  can  enjoy  were  the  possession  of  the 
dreamers. 

By  and  by  their  pulses  grew  steadier.  Out 
of  this  confused  rush  of  imaginings  grew  in  the 
mind  of  each  one  steady,  absorbing  dream. 
Neal  fancied  that  he  was  on  the  top  of  Old 
Squaw  Mountain,  and  that  beneath,  above, 
around  him,  sounded  the  strangely  prolonged 
weird  call,  which  he  had  heard  at  a  distance 
on  the  previous  night  while  Cyrus  was  re 
covering  the  jack-light.  Owing  to  the  ever- 
changing  excitements  of  camp-life,  he  had  not 
questioned  his  comrade  again  about  it. 

Dol's  visions  resolved   themselves   into  a 


74  Camp  and  Trail. 

mighty  coon  hunt.  He  tossed  on  his  pine 
boughs,  kicked  and  jabbered  in  his  sleep,  with 
sundry  odd  little  cries  and  untranslatable  mut- 
terings,  — 

"  Go  it,  Tiger  !  Go  it,  old  dog  !  There  he 
is  —  up  the  tree !  Ah "  (disgustedly),  "you're 
no  good !  " 

A  lull.  Then  the  dreamer  rolled  out  a 
string  of  what  may  be  called  gibberish,  see 
ing  that  it  consisted  of  fragments  of  words 
and  was  unintelligible,  followed  by,  — 

"  The  coon's  eating  the  pork  —  no,  he's 
b-b-b-barking  it !  Hu-loo-oo !  " 

"  Oh,  say,  Chick,  give  us  a  chance  !  We 
can't  sleep  with  you  chirping  into  our  ears." 

It  was  Cyrus  who  spoke,  shaking  with 
drowsy  laughter,  and  Cyrus's  big  hand  gently 
shook  the  dreamer's  arm. 

"What?  what?  wh-wh-at?"  gasped  Dol, 
awaking.  "  I  wasn't  talking  out  loud,  was  I  ? " 

"  Not  talking  aloud !  Well,  I  should  smile ! " 
answered  the  camp  captain.  "  You  were  mak 
ing  as  much  noise  as  a  loon,  and  that's  the 
noisiest  thing  I  know.  Go  to  sleep  again, 
young  one,  and  don't  have  any  more  crazy 
spells  before  dinner-time." 

Cyrus  removed  his  hand,  shut  his  eyes, 
and  in  a  minute  or  two  was  breathing  heav- 


After  Black  Ducks.  75 

ily.  Neal,  who  had  been  aroused  too,  fol 
lowed  his  example,  laughing  and  mumbling 
something  about  "  it's  being  an  old  trick  of 
Dol's  to  hunt  in  his  sleep." 

But  the  junior  member  of  the  party  re 
mained  awake.  After  his  dreams  had  been 
dissipated  he  cared  no  more  for  slumber. 
When  he  could  venture  it  without  disturbing 
his  companions,  he  rose  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and,  after  squatting  for  a  while  in  meditation, 
got  on  his  feet,  picked  up  his  coat  and  moc 
casins,  and,  stealthily  as  an  Indian,  crept  out 
of  the  hut. 

The  rolling  music  among  the  pine-tops  had 
died  down  ;  only  at  long  intervals  a  soft,  ran 
dom  rustle  swept  through  them.  It  was 
nearly  midday.  The  camp-fire  was  almost 
dead,  quenched  by  the  dazzling  sunlight  which 
fell  in  patches  on  the  camping-ground,  and 
flooded  the  clearing  beyond  the  shadow  of 
the  pines. 

Moreover,  the  camping-ground  was  de 
serted.  Neither  Uncle  Eb  nor  Tiger  could 
be  seen,  though  Dol's  eyes  sought  for  them 
wistfully.  But  something  caught  his  atten 
tion.  It  was  a  ray  of  light  Altering  through 
the  pine  boughs  and  glinting  on  the  trigger 
of  an  old-fashioned  muzzle-loading  shot-gun, 


76  Camp  and  Trail. 

which  leaned  against  a  corner  of  the  hut. 
An  ancient,  glistening  powder-horn  and  a 
coon-skin  ammunition  pouch  hung  above  it. 
Dol  lifted  the  antiquated  weapon,  withdrew 
to  a  short  distance,  and  examined  it  closely. 
He  knew  it  belonged  to  the  guide,  but  was 
rarely  used  by  him  since  he  had  purchased 
the  44-calibre  Winchester  rifle,  with  which  he 

could  do  uncommon  feats  in  shooting. 

£> 

The  shot-gun  interested  the  boy  mightily. 
There  was  a  facsimile  of  it,  swathed  in  green 
baize,  stowed  away  somewhere  in  his  father's 
house  in  Manchester.  The  first  time  he  had 
ever  used  fire-arms  was  on  a  memorable  day 
when  his  fingers  pulled  its  trigger  in  his 
father's  garden  under  Neal's  direction,  and  a 
lean  starling  fell  before  his  shot.  After  that 
he  had  often  taken  out  a  fowling-piece  of  a 
newer  style,  and  had  done  pretty  well  with 
it  too. 

As  he  handled  the  shot-gun,  which  the 
guide  had  bought  away  back  in  the  year  '55, 
musing  about  it  under  the  pines,  the  thought 
suddenly  tumbled  out  of  a  corner  of  his  brain 
that  at  present  there  was  a  brilliant  opportu 
nity  for  him  to  u^se  the  gun  and  all  the  shoot 
ing  skill  he  possessed  for  the  benefit  of  his 
comrades  and  himself. 


After  Black  Ducks.  77 

There  was  no  meat  in  the  camp  for  dinner 
or  supper  save  the  pork  on  which  they  had 
feasted  since  they  arrived  there,  and  that  was 
fast  giving1  out.  Cyrus,  in  addition  to  his 
knapsack,  had  hauled  over  from  Greenville, 
where  articles  of  camp  fare  could  be  procured 
in  abundance,  a  goodly  supply  of  tea,  coffee, 
condensed  milk,  flour,  salt,  sugar,  etc.,  in  a 
stout  canvas  bag,  Neal  at  intervals  helping 
him  with  the  burden.  For  the  rest  he  had 
trusted  to  Nature's  larder,  and  such  food  as 
he  might  purchase  from  his  guides,  desiring 
to  go  into  the  woods  as  "  light  "  as  possi 
ble. 

Uncle  Eb  had  baked  bread  for  his  guests 
after  a  fashion  of  his  own  on  the  camp  frying- 
pan,  setting  the  pan  on  some  glowing  coals  a 
foot  or  so  from  the  fire  ;  he  had  fried  unlimited 
flapjacks,  and  had  cheerfully  placed  what 
stores  he  had  at  their  disposal .  His  three  lux 
uries  were  novelties  to  the  English  lads,  being 
pork,  maple  sugar,  —  drawn  from  the  beauti 
ful  maple-trees  near  his  camp,  —  and  a  small 
wooden  keg  of  sticky,  dark  molasses.  The 
sugar  was  the  only  one  which  Dol  found 
palatable  ;  and  he  knew  that  the  Bostonian, 
Cyrus,  shared  his  feeling.  To  tell  the  truth, 
the  juvenile  Adolphus  was  not  fastidious,  but 


78  Camp  and  Trail. 

he  was  suddenly  seized  with  an  ambitious  de 
sire  to  vary  the  diet  of  the  camp. 

"  Uncle  Eb  said  that  I  could  use  this  '  ole 
fuzzee,'  as  he  called  it,  whenever  I  liked,"  he 
muttered,  looking  wistfully  at  the  shot-gun  ; 
"  and  I've  a  big  mind  to  give  those  lazy  fel 
lows  in  there  a  surprise.  They  spent  the 
night  out  jacking,  and  didn't  get  any  meat 
because  Cyrus  let  Neal  do  the  shooting,  and 
he  bungled  it.  It's  my  turn  next  to  go  after 
deer,  but  I'm  not  going  to  wait  for  that." 

Here  his  steel-gray  eyes  fell  on  the  mocca 
sins  which  he  had  not  yet  put  on,  and  struck 
fire  instantly.  His  ambition  was  doubled. 
For  if  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another 
which  in  the  forest  will  stir  the  pluck  of  a 
novice,  and  make  him  feel  like  an  old  woods 
man,  it  is  the  sight  of  his  Indian  footwear. 
Dol  put  his  on,  admired  their  light,  comfort 
able  feeling,  their  soft  buckskin,  and  rashly 
decided  that  he  could  dispense  with  the  loose 
inner  soles  which  Cyrus  had  fitted  into  them 
to  protect  his  feet. 

Then,  being  very  much  of  a  stranger  to 
American  woods,  he  communed  with  himself 
after  this  fashion,  — 

"  Cyrus  says  that  different  tribes  of  Indians 
wear  differently  made  moccasins,  and  one 


After  Black  Ducks.  79 

redskin,  if  he  sees  the  tracks  of  another  in 
soft  mud  or  snow,  can  tell  what  tribe  he  be 
longs  to  by  his  footmarks.  That's  funny !  I 
suppose  if  any  old  brave  was  knocking  about 
and  saw  my  tracks  in  a  boggy  spot,  he'd  think 
it  was  a  Kickapoo  who  had  passed  that  way 
—  not  Dol  Farrar  of  Manchester,  England. 
These  are  of  the  shape  worn  by  the  Kickapoo 
tribe  —  so  Cy  says. 

"  I'm  the  kid  of  the  camp,  I  know,"  he 
went  on,  with  another  flash  in  his  eyes,  as  if 
there  was  a  bit  of  flint  somewhere  in  his 
make-up  which  had  struck  their  steel.  But 
I'll  be  bound  I  can  do  as  well  or  better  than 
the  others  can.  I'm  off  now  to  Squaw  Pond. 
I  think  I  can  follow  the  trail  easily  enough. 
Uncle  Eb  showed  me  yesterday  where  he  had 
spotted  some  of  the  trees  all  the  way  along 
to  the  water.  And  if  I  don't  shoot  a  couple 
of  black  ducks  for  dinner  or  supper,  I'm  a 
duffer,  and  not  fit  for  camping." 

He  took  down  the  powder-horn  and  slung 
it  round  him,  saw  that  there  was  plenty  of 
meat  in  the  ragged  coon-skin  ammunition 
pouch  which  hung  beside  it,  fastened  that  to 
his  belt,  slipped  on  his  coat,  and  started  off, 
with  the  "  ole  fuzzee  "  on  his  shoulder. 

Never  a  sound  did  he  make  as  he  crossed 


8o  Camp  and  Trail. 

the  clearing,  passing  the  clump  of  bushes  be 
hind  which  Cyrus  and  Neal  had  lingered  on 
the  previous  night  to  hear  Uncle  Eb's  song. 
Owing  to  his  Indian  footwear,  silently  as  the 
gliding  redskin  himself  he  entered  the  woods 
at  a  point  where  he  saw  a  tree  with  a  fresh 
notch  carved  in  it.  He  knew  this  marked 
the  beginning  of  the  "  blazed  trail,"  and  that 
he  must  be  very  wide-awake  and  show  con 
siderable  "  gumption  "  if  he  wanted  to  follow 
that  line  to  the  pond. 

Not  every  tree  was  spotted.  Only  at  in 
tervals  of  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  he  came 
upon  a  trunk  with  two  small  pieces  chopped 
out  of  it  on  opposite  sides.  These  were 
Uncle  Eb's  way-marks.  One  set  of  notches 
would  catch  his  eye  as  he  went  towards  the 
water,  the  other  would  lead  him  back  to 
camp.  Once  or  twice  Dol  got  away  from 
the  trail,  but  he  quickly  found  it  again  ;  and 
in  due  time  emerged  from  the  forest  twilight 
into  the  broad  glare  of  the  sun,  to  see  Squaw 
Pond  lying  before  him  like  a  miniature 
mother-of-pearl  sea,  so  protected  by  its  ever 
green  woods  that  scarcely  a  ripple  stirred  it. 

He  heard  the  shrill,  wild  call  of  a  loon,  the 
noisy  bird  to  which  Cyrus  had  likened  him, 
and  saw  its  white  breast  rising  above  the 


After  Black  Ducks.  81 

water,  as  it  swam  about  among  the  reeds 
near  the  opposite  bank.  The  cry  was  oft 
repeated,  making  an  unearthly  din,  now  joy 
ous,  now  dreary,  among  the  echoes  around 
the  lake. 

Dol  paused  for  a  minute  to  listen  ;  but  he 
was  bent  on  business,  and  did  not  want  to 
be  very  long  away  from  camp  lest  his  absence 
should  cause  alarm.  He  took  a  careful  sur 
vey  of  the  scene.  Not  beholding  any  fleet  of 
black  ducks  as  yet,  he  loaded  his  gun,  and 
warily  proceeded  along  the  bank  towards  the 
head  of  the  pond. 

Keeping  a  sharp  lookout,  he  by  and  by  de 
tected  something  moving  among  the  water 
grasses  a  little  way  ahead,  and  heard  a  hoarse, 
squalling  "  Quack  !  quack  !  " 

Immediately  afterwards  a  flock  of  half  a 
dozen  ducks  sailed  forth  from  their  shelter, 
nodding  and  quacking  inquisitively. 

A  wild  drumming  was  at  Dol's  heart,  and 
a  reckless  singing  in  his  ears,  as  he  raised  his 
gun  to  his  shoulder,  and  fired  among  them. 
Nevertheless,  his  aim  was  sure  and  deadly. 
Two  quackers  were  killed  with  one  shot ! 
The  others  rose  from  the  water,  and  with 
much  fluttering  and  hoarse  noise  winged 
their  way  to  safety. 


82  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  How'll  they  be  for  meat,  I  wonder? 
Won't  I  have  a  crow  over  those  fellows  ?  " 
shouted  Adolphus  aloud,  with  a  yell  entirely 
worthy  of  a  Kickapoo  Indian,  when  he  had 
recovered  from  surprise  at  the  success  of  his 
own  shot. 

He  laid  down  the  gun,  pulled  off  his  moc 
casins  and  socks,  rolled  up  his  trousers,  and 
waded  in  for  the  prize.  Truly  luck  was  with 
him  —  so  far  —  in  his  first  venture  in  this 
region  of  the  unknown.  The  water  was  so 
shallow  that,  having  grabbed  the  ducks,  he 
splashed  out  of  it,  kicking  shiny  drops  from 
his  toes,  without  wetting  an  inch  of  his  gar 
ments. 

"I'm  the  kid  of  the  camp,  I  know;  but 
I'll  be  the  first  fellow  to  bring  any  decent 
meat  into  it.  Hooray !  "  he  whooped  again. 
"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  these  moccasins  brought 
me  wonderful  luck ;  one  can  steal  about  so 
quietly  in  them." 

He  had  hit  upon  the  supreme  advantage 
which  the  Indian  footwear  possesses  over 
every  other  for  the  woodsman.  A  little  later 
he  was  to  learn  its  disadvantage,  having,  with 
foreign  inexperience,  disdained  the  extra  soles 
because  they  were  not  "Indian"  enough  for 
his  taste ;  for  the  soft  buckskin  could  not 


After  Black  Ducks.  83 

protect  from  roots  and  stones  a  wearer  whose 
flesh  was  not  hardened  to  every  kind  of  for 
est  travelling. 

But  at  present  Dol  bepraised  his  mocca 
sins  ;  for  they  had  enabled  him  to  sneak  upon 
his  birds,  the  wildest  of  the  duck  tribe,  who 
generally,  at  a  single  hoarse  "  Quack !  "  from 
their  leader,  will  cease  their  antics  in  lake 
or  stream,  and  disappear  like  a  skimming 
breeze  before  a  sportsman  can  get  a  fair  shot 
at  them. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Dol  Farrar  sat  by 
this  forest  pond  engaged  in  the  cheerful  oc 
cupation  of  "  booming  himself,"  as  his  friend 
Cyrus  would  have  said.  He  told  himself  that 
he  had  made  a  pretty  smart  beginning,  not 
alone  in  shooting  a  brace  of  black  ducks,  but 
in  successfully  following  a  difficult  trail  on  his 
fourth  day  in  the  woods.  Henceforth,  he 
thought,  there  would  be  little  reason  for  him 
to  dread  the  unknown  in  this  great  wilderness. 

He  reclothed  his  legs,  gathered  the  stiffen 
ing  claws  of  the  defunct  quackers  in  his  left 
hand,  picked  up  his  empty  "  ole  fuzzee,"  which 
had  done  such  good  service  despite  its  age, 
and  set  forth  on  his  return  to  camp. 

Retracing  his  steps  along  the  bank,  after 
some  searching  he  found  the  beginning  of  the 


84  Camp  and  Trail. 

trail,  and  started  along  it  with  a  know-it-all, 
cheerful  confidence  in  the  little  bit  of  wood- 
lore  which  he  had  acquired.  Hence  he  now 
found  it  considerably  more  difficult  to  follow 
the  spotted  trees.  His  brain  was  excited  and 
preoccupied  ;  and  when  once  in  fancied  se 
curity  he  suffered  his  eyes  and  thoughts  to 
stray  for  a  minute  from  the  trail,  every  un 
familiar  woodland  sight  and  sound  tempted 
them  to  wander  farther. 

First  it  was  an  old  fox,  which  poked  its 
sharp,  inquisitive  nose  out  of  a  patch  of  un 
dergrowth  near  at  hand.  Dol  uttered  a  mad 
"  Whoop-ee  !  "  and  heedlessly  dashed  off  a 
few  steps  in  pursuit.  Reynard  whisked  his 
brush  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  can't  get  the 
better  of  me,  stranger  !  "  and  defiantly  trotted 
away. 

Recovering  his  senses,  the  boy  managed 
to  recover  the  trail  too,  and  was  keeping  to 
it  carefully  when  a  second  temptation  beset 
him.  A  chattering  squirrel,  seated  on  the 
low  bough  of  a  maple-tree,  with  his  fore 
paws  against  his  white  breast,  his  eyes  like 
twinkling  beads,  and  his  restless  little  head 
playing  bo-peep  with  the  intruding  boy,  began 
to  scold  the  latter  for  venturing  into  his  forest 
playground. 


After  Black  Ducks.  85 

Dol's  first  thought  was  full  of  delighted 
interest.  His  second  was  a  sanguinary  one  ; 
namely,  that  a  pair  of  ducks  would  only  be 
one  meal  for  four  campers  who  were  "  camp- 
hungry,"  and  that  Uncle  Eb  had  spoken  of 
squirrels  as  "  fust-rate  eatinV  He  handled 
his  gun  uncertainly,  deliberating  whether  or 
not  he  would  load  it,  and  try  a  shot  at  the 
bright-eyed  chatterbox. 

Before   he    had  decided    one   way  or  the 
other,  the  squirrel,  still  scolding  and  playing 
bo-peep,  scampered  off  his  bough,  and  up  the 
trunk  of  the  maple.    Thence  he  quickly  made 
good  his  escape  from   one  tree  to  another, 
affording  a  whisking,  momentary  view  now 
and  again  of  his  white  breast  or  bushy  tail. 
Dol  absolutely  forgot  the  blazed  trail,  forgot 
the  stories  which  he  had  heard  about  forest 
perils,  forgot  every  earthly  thing  but  his  ad 
miration    for  the    pretty,  tantalizing    fellow; 
though  to  do  the  lad  justice,  he  soon  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  camp  must  be  in  a 
worse  strait  for  want  of  provisions  before  he 
could  have  the  heart  to  shoot  him.     He  gave 
chase  nevertheless,  plunging  along  in  a  ziz- 
zag  way  over  a  carpet  of  moss  and  dry  pine- 
needles,  and  through  some  dense  tangles  of 
undergrowth,  uttering  a  welcoming  screech 


86  Camp  and  Trail. 

whenever  he  saw  the  bright  eyes  of  the  little 
trickster  peering  down  at  him  from  a  bough. 

He  had,  travelled  farther  than  he  knew  be 
fore  his  interest  in  the  game  waned.  He 
began  to  feel  that  it  was  rather  beneath  the 
dignity  of  a  fellow  who  wore  moccasins,  car 
ried  coon-skin  pouch  and  powder-horn,  and 
who  was  bound  for  remote  solitudes  in  search 
of  the  lordly  moose,  to  be  interested  in  such 
an  insignificant  phase  of  forest  life  as  the 
doings  of  a  red  squirrel. 

Then  he  started  back  to  find  the  trail.  He 
walked  a  considerable  distance.  He  searched 
hither  and  thither,  straining  his  eyes  anxiously 
through  the  bewildering  gloom  of  the  forest, 
but  never  a  notched  tree  could  he  see. 
Whereupon  Dol  Farrar  called  himself  some 
pretty  hard  names.  He  remarked  that  he  had 
been  a  "  hair-brained  fool "  and  a  "  greenhorn  " 
ever  to  leave  the  spotted  track,  but  that  he 
wasn't  going  to  be  "  downed  ;  "  he  would 
search  until  he  found  it. 

And  he  certainly  was  enough  of  a  green 
horn  not  to  know  that  every  step  he  now 
took  was  carrying  him  away  from  the  trail, 
and  plunging  him  into  a  hopeless,  pathless 
labyrinth  of  woods.  For  Dol  had  lost  all 
knowledge  of  directions,  and  was  completely 


After  Black  Ducks.  87 

"  turned  round;"  which  means  that  he  was 
miserably  lost. 

The  disaster  came  about  in  this  way.  The 
forest  here  was  very  dense,  the  giant  trees 
interlocked  above  his  head  letting  so  little 
light  filter  through  their  foliage  that  he  could 
scarcely  see  twenty  yards  ahead  of  him,  and 
that  in  a  puzzling,  shadowy  gloom  resembling 
an  English  twilight. 

When  he  ceased  chasing  the  squirrel,  he 
imagined  that  he  retraced  his  steps  directly 
towards  the  point  where  he  had  quitted  the 
trail.  In  reality,  seeing  nothing  to  aim  for 
in  this  bewildering  maze  of  endless  trees, 
turned  out  of  his  way  continually  as  he 
dodged  in  and  out  around  massive  trunks,  he 
gradually  worked  farther  and  farther  off  the 
course  by  which  he  had  come,  drifting  in  ran 
dom  directions  like  a  rudderless  ship  on  mid- 
ocean.  This  helpless  state  is  called,  in  the 
phraseology  of  the  northern  woods,  being 
''turned  round." 

But  Dol  Farrar  was  spared  for  the  present 
a  thorough  realization  of  the  dreadful  mishap 
which  had  befallen  him.  He  had  a  shocked, 
breathless,  flurried  feeling,  as  if  scales  had 
suddenly  fallen  from  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  the 
dangers  of  the  unknown  as  he  had  not  be- 


88  Camp  and  Trail. 

fore  seen  them.  But  even  in  the  midst  of 
abusing  himself  for  his  rash  self-confidence, 
he  uttered  a  cheerful  "  Hurrah  !  " 

"  Why,  good  gracious !  "  he  cried.  "  Here's 
another  trail !  Now,  where  on  earth  does  this 
lead  to?  I  don't  see  any  spotted  trees"  — 
looking  carefully  about  —  "but  it's  a  well- 
beaten  track,  a  regular  plain  path,  where  peo 
ple  have  been  walking.  It  must  lead  to  our 
camp.  I'll  follow  it  up,  anyhow.  That  will 
be  better  than  dodging  around  here  until  I 
get  '  wheels  in  my  head,'  as  Uncle  Eb  says 
he  did  once  when  he  lost  his  way  in  the 
woods,  and  kept  wandering  round  and  round 
in  a  circle." 

Puffing  with  excitement  and  revived  hope, 
the  boy  started  off  on  this  new  trail,  which  he 
blessed  at  first  —  oh,  how  he  blessed  it !  —  as 
if  it  had  been  a  golden  clew  to  lead  him  out 
of  his  difficulty.  To  be  sure,  it  was  not  a 
blazed  trail ;  there  were  no  notches  in  the 
trees,  but  the  ground  showed  distinct  signs 
of  being  frequently  and  recently  travelled 
over.  Though  footprints  were  not  traceable, 
moss,  earth,  and  in  some  places  the  forest  un 
dergrowth  of  dwarfed  bushes,  were  thoroughly 
pressed  and  trodden. 

Dol  never  doubted  but  that  it  was  a  human 


After  Black  Ducks.  89 

trail,  a  track  continually  used  by  some  woods 
man;  but  he  thought  that  the  unknown  trav 
eller,  whoever  he  was,  must  have  agile  legs 
and  a  taste  for  athletics,  for  many  times  he 
had  to  hoist  himself,  his  gun,  and  the  ducks 
over  some  big  windfall  which  lay  right  across 
the  way.  The  dead  quackers  he  pitched  be 
fore  him,  fearing  that  by  the  time  he  got  back 
to  camp  —  if  ever  he  did  ?  —  their  flesh  would 
be  too  bruised  to  look  like  respectable  meat ; 
for  he  was  obliged  to  have  one  hand  free  to 
help  him  in  scrambling  over  each  fallen  tree. 

Once  or  twice  this  strange  trail  led  him 
through  thickets  where  the  bushes  grew  so 
high  as  to  lash  his  face.  He  came  to  regard 
slippery,  projecting  roots  and  rough  stones, 
which  galled  his  feet,  protected  only  by  the 
thin  soles  of  his  moccasins,  as  matters  of 
course.  His  wind  decreased,  and  his  bless 
ings  ceased.  Yet  he  followed  on,  walking, 
walking,  interminably  walking,  with  now  and 
again  an  interval  of  climbing  or  stumbling 
headlong,  accompanied  by  ejaculations  of 
thankfulness  that  his  gun  was  not  loaded. 

His  breath  came  in  hot,  strangling  gasps, 
the  veins  in  his  head  were  swollen  and  sting 
ing  like  whipcords,  there  was  a  dull,  pound 
ing  noise  in  his  ears,  and  a  drumming  at  his 


90  Camp  and  Trail. 

heart.  He  confessed  that  he  was  thoroughly 
"  winded  "  when  he  had  been  following  the 
trail  for  nearly  two  hours,  so  he  seated  him 
self  upon  a  withered  stump  beside  it  to  rest. 

He  had  relinquished  the  idea  that  the  track 
would  bring  him  out  near  Uncle  Eb's  camp. 
Had  it  led  thither.,  he  would  have  rejoined  his 
comrades  long  before  this.  His  only  hope 
now  was  that  by  patiently  following  it  on  he 
might  reach  the  camp  of  some  other  traveller, 
or  the  lonely  log  cabin  of  a  pioneer  farmer. 
He  had  heard  of  such  farm-settlements  being 
scattered  here  and  there  on  forest  clearings. 

So  presently  Dol  Farrar  got  to  his  feet 
again,  when  he  had  recovered  breath  and 
strength,  and  told  himself  pluckily  that  "  he 
wasn't  going  to  knock  under,"  that  "he  had 
been  in  bad  scrapes  before  now,  and  had  not 
shown  the  white  feather."  He  gritted  his 
teeth,  and  resolved  that  he  would  not  show 
that  craven  pinion,  even  in  the  desperate  soli 
tude  of  these  baffling  woods  where  no  eye 
could  see  his  weakness.  He  did  not  want  to 
have  a  secret,  humiliating  memory  by  and  by 
that  he  had  been  faltering  and  distracted 
when  his  life  depended  on  his  wits  and  en 
durance. 

He  squared  his  shoulders  sturdily,  as  if  to 


After  Black  Ducks.  91 

make  the  most  of  the  budding  manhood  that 
was  in  him,  and  trudged  ahead.  And,  indeed, 
he  had  need  to  take  his  courage  in  both  hands, 
and  force  it  to  stand  by  him  ;  for  he  had  not 
gone  far  when,  though  the  forest  still  contin 
ued  dense,  he  became  aware  that  he  was  be 
ginning  a  steep  ascent.  Was  the  trail  going 
to  lead  him  up  a  mountain-side  ?  The  way 
grew  yet  more  rugged.  Every  step  was  a 
misery.  Jagged  edges  of  rock  and  never- 
ending  roots  seemed  to  brand  themselves 
with  burning  friction  upon  his  feet,  through 
their  soft  buckskin  covering.  He  tried  to 
hearten  himself  into  a  belief  that  he  must  soon 
reach  some  mountain  camp  or  settlement. 

But  a  bleak  horror  threw  a  gray  shade  upon 
his  face  as  his  staring  eyes  saw  that  the  trail 
was  growing  fainter  —  fainter  —  fainter.  At 
the  foot  of  a  steep  crag,  where  a  mass  of 
earth,  stones,  and  dead  spruce-trees  showed 
that  there  had  lately  been  a  landslide  on  the 
mountain  above,  he  lost  it  altogether.  It  had 
led  him  to  a  pile  of  rubbish. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A    FOREST    GUIDE-POST. 

AT  the  foot  of  that  crag  Dol  stood  still, 
while  a  great  shiver  crept  from  his  neck 
up  the  back  of  his  head,  stirring  his  hair. 
He  peered  in  every  direction  ;  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  a  camp,  nothing  to  show  that  any 
human  foot  before  his  had  disturbed  the  soli 
tude  of  this  mountain-side,  and  no  further 
marks  on  the  ground,  save  one  impression 
on  a  bed  of  earth  at  his  feet  where  some 
animal  had  lately  lain. 

The  disappointment  was  stupefying. 

At  last  a  fog  of  terror  settled  down  upon 
him,  —  a  fog  which  blotted  out  every  sight  and 
sound,  blotted  out  even  his  own  thoughts, 

all    except  one,  which,  like   a  danger-signal 

92 


A  Forest  Guide -Post.  93 

in  a  mist,  kept  booming  through  his  brain: 
-Lost!  Lost!" 

By  and  by  he  was  sitting  on  the  piled-up 
stones  and  dirt  of  the  slide  ;  but  he  had  no 
remembrance  of  getting  to  this  resting-place, 
for  he  was  still  befogged. 

Something  snorted  close  to  his  right  ear,  — 
a  loud  snort,  which  banished  stupor,  and  set 
his  pulses  jumping.  It  was  a  deer,  a  beau 
tiful  doe  in  a  coat  of  reddish-drab,  matching 
the  autumnal  tints  of  the  forest,  wherever 
maples,  birches,  and  cedars  mingled  with  the 
evergreens.  She  had  bounded  upon  him  sud 
denly  from  behind  a  dead  spruce  and  a  mound 
of  earth. 

It  was  long  since  the  game  on  this  part  of 
the  mountain  had  been  disturbed.  Madam 
Doe  had  in  all  probability  never  seen  a  man 
before,  therefore  her  behavior  was  not  pecu 
liar.  A  shock  of  surprise  thrilled  through  her 
graceful  body  as  she  vented  that  snort,  when 
she  caught  sight  of  the  new-fangled  gray  ani 
mal  who  had  intruded  upon  her  world,  and 
who  sat  spell-bound,  gazing  at  her  with  hope 
less  eyes,  in  which  gradually  a  light  broke. 

But  she  did  not  fear  him,  —  this  creature 
in  gray.  She  stood  stock-still,  and  stared  at 
him,  so  near  that  he  could  see  her  wink  her 


94  Camp  and  Trail. 

starry  eyes,  with  the  white  rings  round  them. 
She  stamped  one  hoof,  kicked  an  insect  from 
her  ear  with  another,  snorted  again,  wheeled 
around,  and  at  last  broke  away  for  the  thick 
shelter  of  the  trees,  lightly  and  swiftly  as  a 
breeze  which  skims  from  one  thicket  to  an 
other. 

Seeing  his  mother  go  for  the  woods,  her 
spotted  fawn,  which  had  been  frolicking  among 
the  branches  of  the  fallen  spruce-tree,  skipped 
from  it,  passed  Dol  with  a  bound  which  car 
ried  him  a  few  feet,  and  disappeared  like  a 
whiff  too. 

Here  was  a  rouser,  indeed,  which  no  boy, 
unless  he  was  in  a  far-gone  state  of  suffering, 
could  withstand.  Dol  Farrar  forgot  his  terri 
ble  predicament.  The  fog  had  cleared  away 
from  his  senses,  leaving  him  free  to  think  and 
act  once  more. 

"Well,  I  never!"  he  ejaculated,  springing 
to  his  feet  in  amazement.  "  Wasn't  she  a 
beauty  ?  And  wasn't  she  a  snorter  ?  I  didn't 
think  a  deer  could  make  such  a  row  as  that. 
And  to  stand  still  and  stare  at  me  !  I  won 
der  whether  she  took  me  for  some  new-fash 
ioned  sort  of  animal  or  a  gray  old  stump." 

It  was  a  few  minutes  before  he  again 
thought  of  his  plight,  and  then  he  was  not 


A  Forest  Guide— Post.  95 

overcome.  He  stood  perfectly  still,  trying 
to  review  the  position  coolly,  and  to  get  a 
tight  grip  of  his  feelings,  so  that  terror  might 
not  again  master  him. 

o 

"I'm  in  a  worse  scrape  than  I  ever  dreamt 
of,"  he  muttered,  puckering  his  forehead  to  do 
some  tall  thinking.  "  And  I  must  do  some 
thing  to  get  out  of  it.  But  what?  That's 
the  question. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  loaded  this  'ole  fuzzee,'  "  — 
the  lad  was  making  a  valiant  effort  to  cheer 
himself  by  being  jocular,  —  "  and  blazed  away 
with  it  for  a  while  like  mad,  whether  there  is 
any  human  being  around  who  would  hear 
me.  Some  fellow  might  be  hunting  or  trap 
ping  in  this  part  of  the  forest,  or  farther  up 
the  mountain.  But  what  a  blockhead  I  am  ! 
Why  on  earth  didn't  I  do  that  before  I  started 
on  this  wretched  trail  ?  " 

But  alas !  as  this  was  Dol  Farrar's  first 
adventure  in  American  woods,  it  had  not  oc 
curred  to  him  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the 
right  time.  Had  he  fired  a  round  of  signal 
shots  when  first  he  lost  the  line  of  spotted 
trees,  he  would  probably  have  been  heard  at 
his  camp,  and  would  have  been  spared  the 
worst  scare  he  ever  had  in  his  life.  The  neg 
ligence  was  scarcely  his  fault,  however ;  for 


g6  Camp  and  Trail. 

Cyrus  Garst,  who  had  never  before  under 
taken  the  responsibility  of  entertaining  a  pair 
of  inexperienced  boys  in  woodland  quarters, 
had  not,  at  this  early  stage  of  the  trip,  ar 
ranged  with  his  comrades  to  fire  a  certain 
number  of  shots  to  signify  "  Help  wanted  !  " 
if  one  of  them  should  stray,  or  otherwise  get 
into  trouble.  The  idea  now  cropped  up  in 
Dol's  perplexed  mind,  through  a  confused 
recollection  of  tales  about  forest  misadven 
tures  which  Uncle  Eb  had  told  him  by  the 
cheery  camp-fire. 

So  he  loaded  the  old  shot-gun.  It  belched 
forth  fire  and  smoke  into  space.  And  the 
thunder  of  his  shot  went  rolling-  off  in  a  re- 

o 

verberating  din  among  the  mountain  echoes, 
until  a  hundred  tongues  repeated  his  appeal 
for  help.  Again  he  loaded  rapidly  and  fired. 
And  yet  again,  with  nervous,  eager  fingers. 
So  on,  till  he  had  let  off  half  a  dozen  shots 
in  quick  succession. 

Then  he  waited,  listening  as  if  every  pulse 
in  his  body  had  suddenly  become  an  ear. 

But  when  the  last  growling  echo  had  died 
away,  not  a  sound  broke  the  almost  absolute 
silence  on  the  mountain-side.  Evidently  not 
a  human  soul  was  near  enough  to  hear  or 
understand  his  signals  of  distress. 


A  Forest  Guide -Post.  97 

In  these  bitter  minutes  some  sensations 
ran  through  Dol  Farrar  which  he  had  never 
known  before  ;  and,  as  he  afterwards  ex 
pressed  it,  "  they  were  enough  to  cover  any 
fellow  with  goose-flesh." 

He  felt  that  he  had  reached  the  dreariest 
point  of  the  unknown,  and  was  a  lonely,  drift 
ing  atom  in  this  immense  solitude  of  forest 
and  rock. 

Never  in  his  life  before  or  afterwards  did 
he  come  so  near  to  Point  Despair  as  when 
he  stumbled  down  the  mountain,  spurning 
that  treacherous  trail,  and  going  wherever 
his  jaded  feet  found  travelling  tolerably  easy. 
He  had  picked  up  the  shot-gun ;  but  the 
black  clucks,  the  primary  cause  of  his  mis 
adventure,  he  clean  forgot,  leaving  them  ly 
ing  amid  the  chaos  at  the  foot  of  the  crag, 
to  have  their  bones  picked  by  some  lucky 
raccoon  or  fox. 

Wandering  along  in  a  zigzag  way,  he  by 
and  by  reached  the  base  of  the  mountain  at 
a  point  where  there  was  a  break  in  the  forest. 
A  patch  of  dreary-looking  swamp  was  before 
him,  covered  with  clumps  of  alder-bushes  — 
a  true  Slough  of  Despond. 

Dol  Farrar  knew  none  of  the  miseries  of 
plunging  through  an  alder-swamp,  but  he 


98  Camp  and  Trail. 

luckily  recalled  in  time  a  warning  from  Cyrus 
that  a  slight  wetting  would  render  his  moc 
casins  useless.  While  he  halted  undecidedly 
on  its  brink,  he  pulled  out  his  watch  ;  one 
glance  at  this,  and  another  at  the  sky,  which 
now  lay  open  like  a  scroll  above  him,  gave 
him  a  sickening  shock.  He  had  started  from 
camp  at  noon  ;  now  it  was  after  five  o'clock. 
Little  more  than  another  hour,  and  not  twi 
light,  but  the  blackness  of  a  total  eclipse, 
would  reign  in  the  forest. 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  head,  and  his 
mouth  grew  feverish  at  the  thought.  As  he 
licked  his  cracking  lips,  he  caught  a  faint, 
tinkling,  rumbling  sound  of  falling  water 
somewhere  to  the  right.  Of  a  sudden  his 
sufferings  of  mind  and  body  were  merged 
into  one  burning  desire  to  drink,  and  he 
turned  eagerly  in  that  direction. 

At  the  edge  of  the  woods  he  found  a  little 
fairy,  foamy  waterfall,  which  had  tumbled 
down  from  the  mountain  to  be  lost  in  the 
dismal  swamp.  But  Dol  felt  that  it  had 
accomplished  its  mission  when  he  unfas 
tened  the  tin  drinking-mug  which  hung  from 
his  belt,  and  drank  —  drank  —  drank!  He 
straightened  himself  again,  feeling  that  some 
of  the  bubbling  life  of  the  mountain  torrent 


A  Forest  Guide -Post.  99 

had  passed  into  him.  His  eyes  lit  on  a  tow 
ering  pine-tree  just  beyond  it.  And  then  — 

Well !  if  that  sky-piercing  pine  had  sud 
denly  changed  at  a  jump  into  a  gray  post, 
bearing  the  inscription,  "  One  mile  to  Bos 
ton,"  Dol  Farrar  could  not  have  been  more 
astonished  and  relieved  than  when  he  saw 
for  the  first  time  a  rude  forest  guide-post. 

To  the  dark,  knotted  trunk  was  fastened  a 
piece  of  light,  delicate  bark,  stripped  from  a 
white-birch  tree.  On  this  was  scrawled  in 
big  letters,  by  some  instrument  evidently  not 
intended  for  penmanship  :  — 

"FOLLOW   THE   BLAZED   TRAIL   AND    YOU   ARE   SAFE." 

"  Another  blazed  trail !  Hurrah  !  "  shouted 
Dol.  "  Won't  I  follow  it?  I  never  will  fol 
low  any  other  again  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred, 
and  come  to  these  woods  every  year  till  I 
die !  " 

The  height  of  his  relief  could  only  be  meas 
ured  by  the  depth  of  his  past  misery,  which 
would  truly  have  been  enough  to  set  a  weaker 
boy  crazy.  With  watering  eyes  and  panting 
breaths  that  came  near  to  being  sobs  of  glad 
ness,  he  started  upon  the  new  trail.  It  led 
him  off  into  the  forest  surrounding  the  swamp. 

The  pine  that  had  been  chosen  for  guide- 


ioo  Camp  and  Trail. 

post  was  the  first  in  the  line  of  spotted  trees. 
The  others  followed  it  closely,  with  intervals 
of  eight  or  ten  yards  between  them ;  and  as 
the  notches  in  their  trunks  were  freshly  cut, 
Dol  followed  the  track  without  any  difficulty 
for  twenty  minutes.  He  had  a  suspicion  that 
he  was  nearing  the  end  of  it ;  though  he  was 
still  in  forest  gloom,  with  light  coming  in 
meagre,  ever-lessening  streaks  through  the 
pine-tufts  above.  Then  he  started  more  vio 
lently  than  when  the  deer  snorted  near  his 
ear. 

Suddenly  and  shrilly  the  blast  of  a  horn 
rang  through  the  darkening  woodland  aisles, 
followed,  after  a  pause  of  a  minute  or  two,  by 
a  second  and  louder  blast. 

Then  a  well-pitched,  far-reaching  voice 
sang  out :  — 

"  Come  to  supper,  boys !  Come  to  sup 
per  !  " 

' '  Good  gracious!"  said  Dol,  conscious  on 
the  instant  that  he  was  as  hollow  as  a  drum. 
"  There  are  enough  surprises  in  these  forests 
to  raise  the  hair  on  a  fellow's  head  half  a 
dozen  times  a  day !  " 

A  matter  of  forty  yards  more,  and  a  burst 
of  light  swam  before  his  eyes.  He  had 
reached  the  end  of  the  blazed  trail. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ANOTHER   CAMP. 

HELLO  !  Come  to  supper,  boys  !  Come 
to  supper  right  away  !  " 

Half  eagerly,  half  shrinkingly,  Dol  emerged 
from  the  woods,  feeling  a  very  torment  of 
hunger  quickened  in  him  by  the  tantalizing 
sound  of  that  oft-repeated  invitation. 

A  sight  met  him  which,  because  of  what 
went  before  and  all  that  came  after,  will  be 
forever  chief  among  the  forest  pictures  which 
rise  in  exciting  panorama  before  his  memory, 
when  camping  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 

A  broad  dash  of  evening  light,  the  sun's 
afterglow,  fell  upon  a  patch  of  clearing  bor 
dered  by  clumps  of  slim,  outstanding  pines, 
the  scouts  of  their  massive  brethren.  That 

101 


IO2  Camp  and  Trail. 

this  was  used  as  a  camping-ground  the  first 
glance  revealed.  A  camp  which  looked  to 
the  tired  eyes  of  the  lost  boy  a  real  "  home- 
camp,"  though  it  consisted  of  rude  log  cabins, 
occupied  it.  A  couple  of  birch-bark  canoes 
reposed  amid  a  network  of  projecting  roots. 
Withered  stumps  and  tree-tops  littered  the 
ground. 

In  the  foreground  of  the  picture  stood  a 
man  with  a  horn  in  his  uplifted  hand,  which 
he  had  just  taken  from  his  mouth.  He  was 
minus  a  coat;  and  the  rough-and-tumble  dis 
array  of  his  attire  showed  that  he  had  been 
lounging  by  his  camp-fire,  or  perhaps  over 
seeing  the  preparation  of  supper.  Dol  had  a 
vague  impression  that  the  individual  was  not 
a  forest-guide  like  Uncle  Eb,  nor  a  rough 
lumberman  such  as  he  had  heard  of.  He 
would  have  taken  him  for  a  pioneer  farmer, 
—  not  having  yet  encountered  such  a  char 
acter,  —  but  there  could  be  no  farm  on  this 
little  bit  of  clearing.  And  he  was  too  dazed 
to  see  that  there  were  signs  of  a  cultivated 
intelligence  in  the  tanned,  beaming  face  under 
the  horn-blower's  broad-brimmed  hat.  In 
deed,  the  hat  itself,  its  wearer,  log  huts, 
canoes,  and  trees  seemed  to  have  a  strange 
propensity  to  waltz  before  the  lad's  eyes,  and 


Another  Camp.  103 

there  was  a  queer  waving  sensation  in  his  own 
legs,  as  if  they,  too,  would  join  in  the  spin 
ning  movement.  For  as  he  advanced  into 
the  light  out  of  the  sombre  shadows,  a  dizzi 
ness  from  long  tramping  in  the  woods,  and 
from  a  hunger  such  as  he  had  never  before  ex 
perienced,  overcame  him.  He  reeled  against 
an  outstanding  tree,  troubled  by  an  affliction 
which  Uncle  Eb  had  called  "  wheels  in  his 
head." 

"  Ho !  you  boys.  Where  in  thunder  are 
you?  Come  to  supper,  or  the  venison  will  be 
spoiled  !  "  shouted  the  possessor  of  the  horn 
again,  shutting  one  eye  into  which  a  crimson 
ray  was  pouring,  while  he  swept  the  skirts 
of  the  woods  with  the  other ;  and  there  was 
music  as  well  as  bluster  in  his  shout. 

Lo !  the  first  to  answer  this  fetching  invi 
tation  was  the  foot-sore,  leg-weary  boy,  pale 
from  exhaustion,  with  his  strange  equipment 
of  powder-horn,  coonskin  pouch,  and  ancient 
shot-gun,  who,  getting  partly  the  better  of 
his  giddiness,  crossed  the  clearing  slowly,  as 
if  he  was  groping  his  way.  Within  a  few  feet 
of  the  horn-blower  he  halted  ;  for  the  man 
had  lowered  his  horn,  and  was  gazing  at  him 
with  keen,  questioning  eyes.  Dol  tried  to 
find  suitable  speech  to  express  his  need  ;  but 


IO4  Camp  and  Trail. 

though  words  came  with  considerable  effort, 
his  voice  sounded  hoarse  and  creaky  in  his 
own  ears,  and  threatened  to  crack  off  alto 
gether. 

He  was  doing  his  best  to  brace  up  and 
speak  plainly,  when  his  sentence  was  stopped 
by  a  noise  of  pounding  footsteps.  The  next 
moment  he  saw  himself  surrounded  by  three 
well-grown,  daring-looking  lads,  one  about  his 
own  age,  one  older,  one  younger,  who  were 
gazing  at  him  with  critical  curiosity.  All  the 
pluck  in  Dol  Farrar  rose  to  meet  this  emer 
gency.  He  felt  as  if  his  legs  were  threat 
ening  to  smash  under  him  like  pipe-stems. 
There  was  a  whirling  and  buzzing  in  his  head. 
It  seemed  as  if  his  words  had  such  a  long 
way  to  travel  from  his  brain  to  his  tongue 
that  they  got  confused  and  changed  before 
he  uttered  them. 

But  through  it  all  he  was  conscious  of  one 
clear  thought :  that  he  was  an  Old-World  boy 
on  parade  before  these  strapping  New- World 
lads.  He  set  his  teeth,  drove  his  gun  hard 
against  the  ground,  and,  as  it  were,  anchored 
himself  to  it,  while  strange,  doubting  lights 
came  into  his  eyes  as  he  tried  to  get  a  grip 
of  his  senses. 

He  succeeded.     At  last  he  addressed  the 


DOL  SIGHTS  A  FRIENDLY  CAMP. 


Another  Camp.  105 

gentleman  with  the  horn,  knowing  that  he 
was  speaking  to  the  point,  — 

"  Good-evening,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  —  I  — 
we're  camping  out  somewhere  in  the  woods. 
I — I  got  lost  to-day.  I've  walked  an  awful 
distance.  Perhaps  you  could  tell  me  "  — 

But  the  man  stepped  suddenly  forward, 
with  a  blaze  of  welcome  in  his  eyes  ;  for  he 
saw  the  brave  effort  which  the  lad  was  mak 
ing,  and  that  his  strength  was  giving  out. 
He  put  a  kindly  arm  through  Dol's,  as  if  to 
warmly  greet  a  fellow-camper,  but  really  to 
support  him. 

"  I'll  not  tell  you  about  anything  until 
you've  had  a  good,  square  meal,"  he  said. 
"That's  our  way  in  woodland  quarters,  —  to 
eat  first,  and  talk  afterwards.  If  you're  lost, 
you've  struck  a  friend's  camp,  and  at  the  right 
time  too,  son ;  so  cheer  up  !  After  supper  you 
can  tell  us  your  yarn,  and  I  guess  we  can  set 
you  right." 

Here  at  last  was  a  surprise  of  unmixed 
blessedness  for  poor  Dol  ;  namely,  the  broth 
erly  hospitality  which  is  always  extended  to  a 
stranger  in  a  Maine  camp,  whether  that  be 
the  temporary  home  of  a  millionnaire  or  the 
shanty  of  a  poor  logger. 

His  new  friend  led  him  into  the  largest  of 


io6  Camp  and  Trail. 

the  cabins,  which  contained  a  fireplace  built  of 
huge  stones,  where  red  flames  frisked  around 
fragrant  birch  logs,  a  camp-bed  of  evergreen 
boughs  about  ten  feet  wide,  a  rude  table,  a 
bench,  and  a  few  stools  of  pine-wood. 

Over  the  camp-fire  was  stooping  a  bright- 
eyed,  muscular  fellow,  whose  dress  somewhat 
resembled  Uncle  Eb's,  but  who  had  no  negro 
blood  in  his  veins.  He  was  frying  meat;  and 
such  tempting  whiffs  mingled  with  the  steam 
which  floated  up  from  his  pan,  that  Dol's  nos 
trils  twitched,  and  his  hungry  longing  grew 
almost  unbearable  as  he  inhaled  them. 

"  I  guess  this  chunk  of  ven'zon  is  about 
cooked,  Doc,"  said  this  personage,  as  Dol's 
kindly  host  entered  the  hut,  with  him  in 
tow,  followed  closely  by  the  boys  of  his  own 
camp. 

"  All  right,  then  !  Let's  have  it !  "  was  the 
reply.  "  I'm  pretty  glad  our  camp-fare  is  de 
cent  to-night,  Joe,  for  we've  a  visitor  here  ; 
a  hungry  bird  who  has  strayed  from  his  own 
camp,  and  has  wandered  through  the  forest 
until  he  looks  like  a  death's  head.  But  we'll 
soon  fix  him  up  ;  won't  we,  Joe  ?  Give  him 
a  mug  of  hot  tea  right  away.  Hot  tea  is 
worth  a  dozen  of  any  other  drink  in  the 
woods  for  a  pick-me-up." 


Another  Camp.  107 

A  spark  of  fun  kindled  in  Dol's  eyes  when 
he  heard  himself  described  as  "  a  hungry 
bird."  It  brightened  into  an  appreciative 
beam  as  the  reviving  tea  trickled  down  his 
throat. 

"  Eatin's  wot  he  wants,  I  guess,"  said  Joe, 
the  camp  guide  and  cook,  placing  some  meat 
and  a  slab  of  bread  of  his  own  baking  on  a 
tin  plate  for  the  guest. 

Dol  began  on  them  greedily  ;  and  though 
the  first  mouthful  or  two  threatened  to  sicken 
him,  his  squeamishness  wore  off,  and  he 
gained  strength  with  every  morsel. 

"  How  do  you  like  Maine  venison,  my  boy  ? 
Like  it  well  enough  to  have  another  piece, 
eh  ?  "  asked  his  host,  when  he  saw  that  the 
haggard,  gray  look  was  leaving  the  wanderer's 
face,  and  that  the  appalled,  dazed  expression, 
the  result  of  being  lost  in  the  woods,  had 
disappeared  from  his  eyes. 

"  I  think  it's  the  best  meat  I  ever  tasted," 
answered  Dol  heartily.  "  It's  so  tender,  and 
has  a  splendid  taste." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  It  ought  to  be  prime,"  chuckled 
the  owner  of  the  camp.  "  It  was  cut  from 
the  quarters  of  a  buck  which  my  nephew  here, 
Royal  Sinclair,"  pointing  out  the  tallest  of 
the  three  lads,  "  shot  four  days  ago.  He 


io8  Camp  and  Trail. 

was  a  regular  crackerjack — that  buck!  I 
mean,  he  was  as  fine  a  deer  as  ever  I  saw ; 
weighed  over  two  hundred  pounds,  had  seven 
prongs  to  his  horns  on  one  side  and  six  on 
the  other.  Royal  is  going  to  take  the  antlers 
home  with  him  to  Philadelphia.  We  were 
mighty  glad  to  get  him,  too  ;  for  we  have 
been  camping  here  for  five  weeks,  and  were 
rynning  short  of  provisions.  Roy  had  quite 
an  attack  of  buck-fever  over  it,  though  he 
didn't  think  he  was  killing  the  '  fatted  calf,  to 
entertain  a  visitor;  did  you,  Roy?" 

"  I  guess  not,  Uncle  !  But  I'm  pretty  glad, 
all  the  same,"  answered  Royal,  with  a  smiling 
glance  at  Dol. 

Young  Farrar  found  himself  in  very  pleas 
ant  quarters ;  and,  now  that  he  was  recover 
ing,  his  laugh  rang  from  one  log  wall  to  the 
other. 

"What's  'buck-fever'?"  he  questioned, 
while  Joe  filled  his  plate  with  more  venison. 

"A  sort  of  disease  of  which  you'll  learn 
the  meaning  before  you  leave  these  woods," 
answered  his  host  merrily.  "  It  attacks  a 
man  when  he's  out  after  a  deer,  and  makes 
him  feel  as  if  one  leg  stands  firm  under  him, 
while  the  other  shakes  as  if  it  had  the  palsy. 

"  Now  I  guess  you'd  like  to  know  whose 


Another   Camp.  109 

camp  you're  in,  my  boy,  and  then  you  can 
tell  your  story.  Well,  to  begin  with  the  most 
useful  member  of  the  party.  That  knowing- 
looking  fellow  over  there,  who  cooked  your 
supper,  is  Joe  Flint,  the  best  guide  that  ever 
pulled  a  trigger  or  handled  a  frying-pan  in 
this  region  —  barring  one.  These  three  ras 
cals,"  here  the  speaker  beamed  upon  the 
strapping  lads,  with  whom  Dol  had  been 
exchanging  sympathetic  glances  of  curiosity, 
"  are  my  nephews,  Royal,  Will,  and  Martin 
Sinclair.  And  I  —  I  — 

"  Good  gracious!  Listen  to  that,  Joe! 
What's  up  now  ?  Another  fellow  lost  in  the 
woods  ?  Somebody  is  firing  a  round  with 
his  rifle !  Perhaps  he  wants  help.  Those 
are  signal  shots,  anyhow  !  " 

The  camper  whose  horn  had  been  Dol's 
signal  of  deliverance,  broke  off  abruptly  in 
his  introductions,  just  as  he  had  arrived  at 
the  most  interesting  point,  and  was  proclaim 
ing  his  own  identity.  He  rattled  oft  his  short 
exclamations  in  excitement,  and  dashed  out 
of  the  cabin,  followed  by  Joe,  his  nephews, 
and  Dol,  the  latter  limping  painfully,  for  his 
feet  now  felt  like  hot-water  bags. 

"  That  Winchester  has  spoken  eight  or  ten 
times,"  said  the  leader,  counting  the  shots 


i  io  Camp  and  Trail, 

fired  by  somebody  away  in  the  dark  recesses 
of  the  forest  from  a  powerful  repeating-rifle. 
"  Let's  give  the  fellow,  whoever  he  is,  an 
answer,  Joe  !  " 

He  seized  his  own  rifle  hastily,  loaded  the 
magazine  with  blank  cartridges,  and  fired  a 
noisy  salute. 

In  the  pause  which  followed,  while  all 
strained  their  ears  to  listen,  the  sound  of  a 
shrill,  distant  "  Coo-hoo  !  "  the  woodsman's 
hail,  reached  them  from  the  forest. 

Joe  instantly  responded  with  a  vehement 
"  Coo-hoo  !  Coo-hoo-oo  !  "  the  first  call  being 
short  and  brisk,  the  second  prolonged  into  a 
roar  which  showed  the  strength  of  the  guide's 
lungs,  —  a  roar  that  might  carry  for  miles. 

Shortly  afterwards  there  was  a  crashing  and 
tearing  amid  some  undergrowth  near  the  edge 
of  the  forest.  A  man  bounded  forth  from 
the  pitch-black  shadows  into  the  clearing, 
where  a  little  daylight  still  lingered.  As  he 
approached  the  group,  Dol,  who  was  in  the 
background,  gave  a  startled,  yearning  cry ; 
but  it  was  drowned  in  a  loud  burst  from  his 
host. 

"  Why,  Cyrus  Garst !  "  exclaimed  the  latter, 
peering  into  the  new-comer's  face.  "  How 
goes  it,  man  ?  I  never  expected  to  see  you 


Another  Camp.  1 1 1 

here.  Surely  you  haven't  come  to  grief  in 
the  woods  ?  You  look  scared  to  death ! " 

Cyrus  —  for  it  was  he  —  grasped  the  wel 
coming  hand  which  the  owner  of  this  camp 
extended  to  him.  But  his  dark  eyes  did  not 
linger  a  moment  meeting  the  other's.  They 
turned  hither  and  thither,  flashing  in  all  direc 
tions  restlessly,  like  search-lights. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Doc,"  he  said.  "  I 
didn't  know  you  were  anywhere  near.  But 
I'm  half  distracted  just  now.  A  youngster 
belonging  to  our  camp  is  missing.  I've  been 
scouring  the  forest  for  hours,  and  firing  sig 
nals,  hoping  he  might  hear  them.  But  "  — 

Here  Cyrus  caught  sight  of  Dol,  who  with 
a  cry  which  in  its  changing  inflections  was 
longing,  penitent,  joyful,  was  making  towards 
him.  The  Harvard  student  strode  forward, 
and  gripped  the  boy  by  his  elbows.  In  the 
dusk  their  eyes  were  near  together ;  Garst's 
were  stern,  Dol's  blinking  and  unsteady. 

"  Adolphus  Farrar,"  began  Cyrus  in  a  voice 
as  if  he  was  making  an  arrest,  "  have  you  been 
here  in  this  camp,  or  where  have  you  been, 
while  your  brother  and  I  were  searching  the 
woods  like  maniacs  ?  What  unheard-of  folly 
possessed  you  to  go  off  by  yourself?" 

Dol  made  a  gurgling   attempt  to  answer, 


ii2  Camp  and  Trail. 

but  his  voice  rattled  and  died   away  in  his 
throat.     His  eyes  grew  decidedly  leaky. 

"Say,  Cyrus!"  interrupted  the  man  who 
had  befriended  him  and  now  proved  his  cham 
pion,  "  let  the  youngster  get  breath  and  tell 
his  story  from  start  to  finish  before  you  blow 
him  up.  I  guess  he  wasn't  much  to  blame  ; 
and  if  he  was,  he  has  suffered  for  it.  He 
found  his  way  here  not  quite  half  an  hour  ago, 
so  played  out  from  wandering  through  the 
forest  that  he  was  ready  to  drop  in  his  tracks. 
And  I  tell  you  he  showed  his  grit  too ;  for 
he  managed  to  brace  up  and  keep  on  his 
feet,  though  he  was  as  exhausted  a  kid  as 
ever  I  saw." 

The  "  kid,"  forgiving  this  objectionable 
term  because  of  the  soothing  allusion  to  a 
trying  time  when  he  had  behaved  like  a  man, 
winked  and  gulped  to  get  rid  of  his  emotion, 
and  twisted  his  elbows  out  of  Cyrus's  hold. 
The  latter  lost  his  angry  look,  and  released 
them. 

"  I  must  fire  three  shots  to  let  Neal  and 
Uncle  Eb  know  I've  found  you,"  he  said. 
"  We  parted  company  a  while  ago,  and  they're 
beating  about  the  woods  in  another  direction. 
Whoever  first  came  upon  any  trace  of  you 
was  to  fire  his  rifle  three  times." 


Another    Camp.  113 

The  signal  was  instantly  given. 

More  far-reaching  "  Coo-hoos  !  "  were  ex 
changed.  Ere  long  Neal  was  beside  his 
brother,  looking  at  him  with  eyes  which 
showed  the  same  tendency  to  leak  that  Dol's 
had  done  a  while  ago,  and  battling  with  a  de 
sire  to  squeeze  the  wanderer  in  a  breathless 
hug.  He  relieved  his  feelings  instead  by 
11  blowing  up"  Dol  with  withering  fire  and 
a  rough  choke  in  his  voice. 

But  when,  in  response  to  an  invitation  from 
the  genial  camper  whom  Cyrus  and  Joe  called 
"  Doc,"  the  whole  party,  guides  included,  had 
gathered  around  the  camp-fire  in  the  big  log 
hut,  and  Dol  told  his  story  from  start  to  fin 
ish,  he  became  the  hero  of  the  evening. 

His  only  fault  had  been  a  rash  venturing 
into  the  unknown  ;  and  well  it  was  that  he 
had  not  followed  the  unknown  to  his  death. 

"  Why,  boy  ! "  exclaimed  Cyrus,  with  a 
strong  shudder,  when  Dol  had  described  the 
lalse  trail  which  led  him  to  the  foot  of  the 
crag,  "  that  wasn't  a  human  trail  at  all.  It 
was  a  deer-road.  The  deer  spend  their  day 
up  in  the  mountains,  and  come  down  to  the 
ponds  at  evening  to  feed  and  drink.  Now,  a 
buck  or  doe  in  its  regular  journeys  to  and 
fro  will  follow  one  line,  to  which  it  becomes 


ii4  Camp  and  Trail. 

accustomed.  Perhaps  fifty  others,  seeing  the 
ground  trodden,  will  run  in  the  same  track. 
And  there  you  have  your  well-used  path, 
which  looks  as  if  it  was  made  by  men's  feet ! 

"  You  may  thank  your  lucky  star,  Dol, 
every  hour  of  this  night,  that  the  false  trail 
didn't  lead  you  away  —  away  —  higher  — 
higher — up  the  mountain,  until  you  dropped 
in  your  tracks,  and  died  there  alone,  as  others 
have  done  before." 

A  shocked  hush  fell  upon  the  group  around 
the  camp-fire.  Even  the  guides  were  silent. 
But  the  fragrant  birchen  logs  sputtered  and 
glowed,  darting  out  playful  tongues  of  flame. 
They  seemed  to  call  upon  everybody  to  dis 
miss  gloomy  thoughts  of  what  might  have 
been  ;  to  crack  jokes,  sing  songs,  tell  yarns, 
and  be  as  merry  as  befitted  men  who  had  a 
log  hut  for  a  shelter,  fresh  whiffs  of  forest 
air  stealing  to  them  through  an  open  door 
way,  and  such  a  camp-fire. 

Joe  began  to  prepare  supper  for  the  three 
who  had  searched  so  long  and  distractedly 
for  Dol  that  they  confessed  to  not  having 
eaten  for  hours.  While  more  venison  was 
being  cooked,  the  juveniles,  American  and 
English,  who  had  been  secretly  taking  stock 
of  each  other,  cast  aside  restraint,  and  became 


Another  Camp.  1 1 5 

as  "  chummy  "  as  if  they  had  been  acquainted 
for  years  instead  of  hours. 

Such  a  carnival  of  fun  and  noise  was  started 
through  their  combined  efforts  in  the  old  log 
camp,  that  its  owner  declared  he  "  couldn't 
hear  himself  think."  Seizing  his  horn,  he 
blew  a  blast  which  called  for  order. 

"  Say,  my  boy,  let  me  have  a  look  at  your 
feet,"  he  said,  cornering  Dol.  "  A  deer-road 
isn't  a  king's  highway,  as  I  dare  say  you've 
found  out  to  your  cost.  Pull  off  your  mocca 
sins  and  socks,  and  let  me  doctor  your  poor 
trotters." 

Young  Farrar  very  gladly  did  as  he  was 
bidden. 

"Humph!"  said  his  friend.  "I  thought 
so.  They're  a  mass  of  bruises  and  blisters. 
You've  been  pretty  well  branded,  son.  Moc 
casins  aren't  much  use  to  protect  the  feet 
from  roots  and  sharp  stones,  if  you  happen 
to  strike  a  bad  place  in  forest  travelling,  un 
less  you  have  taken  the  precaution  to  put 
double  soles  in  them  ;  didn't  you  know  that  ? 
Now,  Cyrus  Garst,"  turning  to  the  student, 
"  you're  all  going  to  camp  with  us  to-night. 
This  lad  can't  tramp  any  more.  As  a  doctor 
I  forbid  it." 

"  Are  you  a  doctor,  sir  ?  "  questioned  Dol, 


1 1 6  Camp  and  Trail. 

with  a  thrill  of  surprise,  which  he  managed  to 
conceal. 

"  Something  of  the  kind,  boy,"  answered 
his  host,  smiling.  "  I  don't  look  much  like 
a  city  physician,  do  I  ?  I  graduated  from  a 
medical  college  in  Philadelphia,  and  took  my 
degree.  But  I  had  an  enthusiasm  for  the 
woods.  One  hour  of  forest  life  in  clear  old 
Maine  was  to  me  worth  a  year  spent  amid 
streets,  alleys,  and  sky-scraping  buildings; 
so  I  fixed  my  headquarters  at  Greenville,  and 
have  spent  most  of  my  time  in  the  wilder 
ness." 

"  Where  every  trapper,  guide,  and  lumber 
man  knows  Dr.  Phil  Buck,  whom  they  dis 
respectfully  and  affectionately  call  '  Doc,' " 
put  in  Cyrus.  "  And  many  a  poor  fellow 
owes  his  life  or  limbs  to  Doc's  knowledge 
and  nursing  in  some  hard  time  of  sickness, 
or  after  one  of  the  dreadful  accidents  common 
in  the  forests." 

Dol  could  well  understand  this  ;  for  he  now 
was  benefiting  by  Dr.  Phil's  lively  desire 
to  relieve  suffering,  and  was  silently  breath 
ing  blessings  on  his  head.  The  doctor  had 
bathed  his  puffy  feet  in  warm  water  taken 
from  Joe's  camp-kettle,  and  was  anointing 
them  with  a  healing  salve,  after  which  he 


Another  Camp.  117 

tucked  them  into  a  loose  pair  of  slippers  of 
his  own.  Meanwhile,  he  chatted  pleasantly. 

"This  isn't  the  first  time  that  your  friend 
Cyrus  and  I  have  run  against  each  other  in 
the  wilds,"  he  said,  "  nor  the  first  time  that 
we've  camped  together,  either.  Bless  you  ! 
we  could  make  you  jump  with  some  of  our 
stories.  Do  you  remember  that  night  in  '89, 
Cy,  when  you,  with  your  guide,  came  upon 
me  lying  under  a  rough  shelter  of  bark  and 
spruce  boughs,  which  I  had  rigged  up  for 
myself  near  Roaring  Brook,  on  the  side  of 
Mount  Katahdin?" 

"  I  guess  I  do  remember  it,"  answered 
Cyrus,  laughing. 

"A  mighty  hungry  man  I  was,  too,  that 
evening,"  went  on  Doc ;  "for  I  had  no  food 
left  but  one  little  package  of  soup-powder 
and  a  few  beans.  I  had  been  trying  all  day 
to  get  a  successful  shot  at  a  moose  or  deer, 
and  muffed  it  every  time.  It  wasn't  the  lucky 
side  of  the  moon  for  me.  Well,  you  behaved 
like  the  Good  Samaritan  to  me,  then,  Cy  ; 
shared  your  meat  and  all  your  stuff,  and  we 
slept  like  twin  brothers  under  my  shelter." 

"Yes;  and  a  bear  visited  our  temporary 
camp  in  the  night !  "  exclaimed  Cyrus,  burst 
ing  into  uproarious  mirth  over  some  over- 


ii8  Camp  and  Trail. 

poweringly  funny  recollection  ;  "  he  made  off 
with  my  knapsack,  which  I  had  left  lying  by 
the  camp-fire.  I  suppose  old  Bruin  thought 
he'd  find  something  good  in  it  to  eat ;  but 
he  didn't.  So  he  tore  my  one  extra  shirt 
and  every  article  in  the  pack  to  shreds,  and 
chewed  up  the  handle  of  my  razor,  so  that 
I  couldn't  shave  again  until  I  got  back  to 
civilization,  when  I  was  as  bristly  as  a  porcu 
pine." 

"  Perhaps  Bruin  tried  to  shave  himself," 
suggested  Dol. 

"  At  all  events,  he  had  wisdom  enough  not 
to  cut  his  throat,"  answered  the  story-teller. 
"  We  three  —  Doc,  my  guide,  and  myself — 
were  stupidly  tired,  and  slept  so  soundly  that 
we  did  not  discover  the  theft  nor  who  the 
marauder  was  until  the  following  morning. 
Then  we  found  my  knapsack  gone,  and  the 
tracks  of  a  huge  bear  in  some  soft  earth  near 
our  shelter.  We  traced  his  footprints  through 
a  bog  until  we  found  the  spot,  not  far  off, 
where,  overcome  by  greed  or  curiosity,  he 
ripped  up  that  strong  leather  knapsack  as  if 
it  was  papier  mach'e  and  made  hay  of  its 
contents." 

The  boys  had  all  crowded  near  to  listen. 
It  was  now  the  social  hour  for  campers.  By 


Another  Camp.  119 

the  camp-fire  more  reminiscences  followed  ; 
and  the  two  guides  chimed  in  it  with  moose 
stories,  bear  stories,  panther  stories,  wild  tales 
of  every  imaginable  and  unimaginable  kind 
of  adventure,  until  the  lads  thought  no  my 
thology  which  they  had  ever  learned  could 
rival  in  marvels  the  forest  lore. 

At  this  opportune  time,  Neal  suddenly 
thought  of  describing,  or  attempting  to  de 
scribe,  that  strangest  of  strange  calls  which  he 
had  heard,  after  the  capsizing  of  the  canoe, 
on  the  preceding  night,  when  Cyrus  and  he 
were  jacking  for  deer  on  Squaw  Pond. 

Joe  grunted  expressively.  "  So  help  me  !  it 
was  the  moose  call ! "  he  ejaculated.  "  What 
say,  Doc  ? " 

"  I  guess  it  was,"  answered  Dr.  Phil.  "It 
was  either  the  cow-moose  herself  calling,  or 
some  hunter  imitating  her  with  his  birch- 
bark  trumpet.  It's  a  weird  sort  of  experi 
ence,  to  hear  that  call  for  the  first  time  ;  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  your  heart  went  whack- 
whack,  lad  ? " 

"  I  only  hope  he'll  get  a  chance  to  hear  it 
again  before  he  goes  back  to  England,"  said 
Cyrus. 

Forthwith,  the  Harvard  man  proceeded  to 
explain  that  he  was  bent  on  pressing  forward 


I2O  Camp  and  Trail. 

for  a  distance  of  sixty  miles  or  so,  to  the 
heart  of  the  wilderness,  to  search  for  moose, 
but  that  he  intended  to  do  the  journey  in  a 
leisurely,  zigzag  fashion,  camping  for  a  couple 
of  nights  at  various  points,  in  order  to  do 
the  honors  of  the  forest  to  his  English  com 
rades. 

"So  you're  English,  are  you!  Ha!  Ha! 
Ho  !  Ho  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  looking  at 
the  young  Farrars.  "Well,  I  suppose  we'll 
have  to  put  our  best  foot  foremost  to  give 
you  a  good  time  in  American  woods." 

"I  think  that's  what  we're  having,  sir  — 
such  a  jolly  good  time  that  we'll  never  forget 
it,"  answered  Neal  courteously. 

"  Yes,  it's  jolly  enough  now  ;  but  I  tell  you 
I  didn't  find  it  so  to-day,"  grumbled  Dol, 
while  his  eyes  gleamed  like  polished  steel 
with  the  light  of  present  fun.  "  But  as  long 
as  I  live  I'll  remember  the  sound  of  your 
horn,  Doctor,  when  I  was  dead-beat." 

"  Is  that  so?  Well,  I  guess  I'll  have  to 
make  you  a  present  of  that  horn,  boy,  when 
we  part  company,  and  you  go  back  to  civiliza 
tion,  and  of  the  piece  of  birch-bark,  too,  which 
led  you  to  our  camp.  Twas  Joe  who  fixed 
that  to  the  pine  near  the  swamp ;  for  my  lads 
had  a  habit  of  following  the  trail  to  the  alders, 


A  nother  Ca  mp .  121 

looking  for  moose  or  deer  signs.  He  scrawled 
his  sentence  on  it  with  the  end  of  a  cartridge. 
I  guess  it  would  be  a  sort  of  curiosity  in 
England." 

Dol  whooped  his  delight. 

"  I'll  put  it  under  a  glass  shade  !     I'll  "  — 

While  he  was  casting  about  in  his  mind  for 
some  way  of  immortalizing  that  bit  of  white 
bark,  Doc's  genial  bluster  was  heard  again,  — 

4 'Come!  come!  you  fellows!  No  more 
skylarking  in  this  camp  to-night !  It's  high 
time  for  all  campers  to  be  snoring.  Turn  in  ! 
Turn  in  !  " 

But  nobody  was  in  a  hurry  to  obey  the 
summons  to  bed.  While  hands  and  feet 
were  being  stretched  out  to  the  sizzling 
birch  logs  for  a  final  toast,  Royal  Sinclair, 
who  had  a  trick  of  speaking  very  quickly, 
with  a  slight  click  in  his  utterance,  as  if  his 
tongue  struck  his  teeth,  began  to  pour  some 
communications  into  Neal's  ear  in  rapid  dashes 
of  talk,  — 

"This  is  just  about  the  jolliest  night  we 
ever  had  in  the  forest,  and  we've  had  a  stav 
ing  time  all  through.  We  live  in  Philadel 
phia,  and  Uncle  Phil  —  we  call  him  'Doc* 
like  everybody  else  —  brought  us  out  here 
for  our  summer  vacation.  This  old  log  camp 


122  Camp  and  Trail 

was  built  several  years  ago  by  a  hunting-party, 
of  whom  he  was  one.  The  walls  were  getting 
mouldy;  but  he  cleaned  up  the  largest  of  the 
huts,  with  Joe's  help,  and  made  it  our  head 
quarters.  He  never  needs  a  guide  himself; 
not  a  bit  of  it !  He  can  find  his  way  any 
where  through  the  woods  with  his  compass. 
But  he  is  a  good  deal  away,  so  he  engaged 
Joe  to  go  out  with  us. 

"  He  often  starts  off  at  a  moment's  notice, 
and  travels  dozens  of  miles  on  foot,  or  in  a 
birch  canoe,  if  he  hears  of  a  bad  accident  far 
away  in  the  forest.  Sometimes  a  lumberman 
or  trapper  cuts  his  foot  in  two,  or  nearly  chops 
off  his  leg  with  his  axe ;  and  these  poor  fellows 
would  probably  die  while  their  comrades  were 
lugging  them  through  the  woods  on  a  litter, 
trying  to  reach  a  settlement,  if  it  weren't  for 
our  Doc. 

"  Once  in  a  while,  when  he  comes  to  visit 
us  in  Philadelphia,  a  few  people  call  him  a 
crank,  because  he  lives  out  here  and  dresses 
like  a  settler;  but  I  call  him  a  regular  brick." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Neal  with  spirit. 

"  You're  awfully  lucky  to  be  able  to  camp 
out  during  October,"  rattled  on  Roy.  "  That's 
the  month  for  moose-hunting,  jacking,  and 
all  the  most  exciting  sort  of  fun.  We  have 


Another  Camp.  123 

to  go  home  in  a  day  or  two,  for  our  school 
has  reopened,  unless"  — 

"  When  Royal  Sinclair  gets  a  streak  of  talk 
ing,  you  might  as  well  try  to  bottle  up  the 
Mississippi  as  to  stop  him,"  said  Dr.  Phil, 
laughing.  "  I  can't  hear  what  he's  saying, 
but  I  know  that  his  tongue  is  clicking  like  a 
telegraph  instrument.  But  I  hope  it  has  given 
its  last  message  for  to-night.  You  really  must 
turn  in,  boys.  I  let  you  have  an  extra  social 
hour,  because  to-morrow  will  be  Sunday,  a 
day  of  rest  after  the  travels  and  excitements 
of  the  week.  Think  of  it,  lads!  A  Sunday 
in  the  woods  —  God's  first  cathedral !  May 
it  do  us  all  good !  " 

The  guide,  Joe,  built  up  the  fire.  Fresh 
birch  logs  blistered  and  sputtered  as  creep 
ing  curls  of  bluish  flame  enwrapped  them. 
Kindling  rapidly,  they  threw  out  fantastic 
lights,  which  danced  like  a  regiment  of  red 
elves  around  the  old  log  walls  of  the  cabin. 

11  If  a  fellow  could  only  drop  off  to  sleep 
every  night  in  the  year  seeing  and  smelling 
such  a  fire  as  that! "  breathed  Neal,  as,  accept 
ing  a  share  of  Royal's  blankets,  he  stretched 
his  tired  limbs  on  the  evergreen  mattress. 

"  Then  life  would  be  too  jolly  for  anything," 
answered  Roy. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A   SUNDAY    AMONG    THE    PINES. 

"  TV  /I  EN  and  boys  learn  a  good  many  whole- 
iVl  some  lessons  in  the  forest,  one  of 
which  is  that  it  pays  better  to  take  a  day  of 
rest  in  seven  if  they  want  to  make  the  most 
of  themselves  and  their  opportunities.  There 
fore,  lads,  we'll  do  no  tramping  to-day.  And 
we'll  have  a  bit  of  a  service  by  and  by  over 
there  under  the  pines." 

So  spoke  Doctor  Phil  on  the  following 
morning,  when  the  two  sets  of  campers,  now 
one  joyous,  brotherly  crowd,  were  sitting  or 
lounging  about  the  pine-wood  table,  leisurely 
emptying  tin  mugs  of  tea  or  coffee,  and  eating 
porridge  and  rolls  of  Joe's  baking. 

"  You  haven't  told  us  yet,  Cyrus,"  he  went 
124 


A  Sunday  Among  the  Pines.        125 

on,  "  what  point  you're  bound  for.  I  know 
you're  level-headed,  and  plan  every  forest  trip 
beforehand,  to  economize  time." 

"  Yes,  a  fellow  likes  to  do  that;  it  adds  to 
the  pleasures  of  anticipation,"  Garst  answered. 
"  But  it's  precious  little  use,  after  all,  when 
you're  visiting"  a  region  which  is  as  full  of 
surprises  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat.  However, 
I  have  arranged  to  meet  Herb  Heal,  the  guide 
whom  I  generally  employ,  at  a  hunting-camp 
near  Millinokett  Lake." 

"A  good  moose  country,"  put  in  Doc. 

"  I  know  it.  At  all  events,  it  is  a  good  place 
for  a  home-camp  ;  one  can  make  excursions 
into  the  dense  forests  at  the  foot  of  Katahdin, 
which  are  unrivalled  for  big  game  —  so  Herb 
says,  and  he's  an  authority.  These  English 
fellows  may  expect  to  have  an  attack  of  buck- 
fever,  or  moose-fever  rather,  which  will  set 
their  blood  on  fire.  Not  that  we're  out  chiefly 
for  killing ;  we're  willing  to  let  his  mooseship 
keep  a  whole  skin,  and  go  in  peace  to  replen 
ish  the  forests,  unless  he  grows  cantankerous 
and  charges  us." 

o 

"  If  he  happens  to  be  an  old  bull,  and  gits 
his  mad  up,  he  may  clo  that ;  it's  as  likely  as 
not,"  chimed  in  Joe  Flint,  who  was  listen 
ing. 


126  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Well,  it  there's  a  man  in  Maine  who  can 
be  warranted  to  start  a  moose,  and  to  follow 
up  his  trail  until  he  gets  a  sight  of  him,  living 
or  d&ad,  that  man  is  Herb  Heal,"  said  the 
doctor.  "And  his  adventures  go  ahead  of 
those  of  any  woodsman  up  to  date.  You 
must  get  him  to  tell  you  how  he  swam  across 
a  pond  at  the  tail  of  a  bull-moose,  holding 
with  his  fingers  and  teeth  to  the  creature's 
long  hair,  then  got  astraddle  of  its  back,  and 
severed  its  jugular  vein  with  his  hunting- 
knife.  How's  that !  It  was  the  liveliest 
swim  I  ever  heard  of.  But  I  mustn't  spoil 
his  yarns.  He  must  tell  them  himself. 

"  A  fine  son  of  the  woods  is  Herb  Heal  !  " 
went  on  the  speaker,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  ran 
across  him  first  five  years  ago,  when  he  was 
trapping  for  fur-bearing  animals  in  the  dense 
forests  you  mentioned  near  the  foot  of  Mount 
Katahdin.  He  had  a  partner  with  him  then, 
a  half-breed  Indian,  whom  woodsmen  called 
*  Cross-eyed  Chris,'  a  willing,  plucky,  honest 
fellow  when  he  was  sober.  But  he  loved  fire 
water.  Let  him  once  taste  spirits,  or  smell 
them,  and  he  went  clean  crazy.  He  did  a 
dog's  trick  to  Herb,  —  stole  all  his  furs  and 
savings,  with  a  splendid  pair  of  moose  antlers, 
while  he  was  away  from  camp  one  day,  and 


A  Sunday  Among  the  Pines.        127 

skipped  out  of  the  State.  Herb  swore  he'd 
shoot  him.  But  I  don't  think  he  has  ever 
come  across  him  since.  And  if  he  should, 
he  wouldn't  stick  to  his  threat.  He's  not 
built  that  way." 

There  was  a  general  hum  of  interest  over 
this  story,  which  even  Cyrus  had  not  heard 
before. 

"  Now,  how  are  you  going  to  reach  your 
camp  on  Millinokett  Lake  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Phil, 
when  the  buzz  had  subsided.  "  That's  the 
next  question." 

"  We  intend  to  tramp  the  entire  distance 
by  easy  stages,  and  get  there  about  the  mid 
dle  of  October,"  answered  young  Garst  for 
himself  and  his  comrades.  "Uncle  Eb  will 
go  along  with  us  as  guide  ;  and  he'll  supply 
a  tent,  so  that  we  can  rest  for  two  or  three 
nights  at  a  time  if  we  choose." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  the  doctor  doubtfully,  laying 
his  hand  on  Dol's  shoulder.  "  This  young 
ster  oughtn't  to  do  much  tramping  for  a  few 
days,  Cyrus.  That  deer-road  did  up  his  feet 
pretty  badly.  I'll  be  travelling  in  your  direc 
tion  myself  the  day  after  to-morrow.  I  want 
to  visit  a  farm-settlement  within  a  dozen  miles 
of  the  lake,  where  the  farmer  has  a  sickl^ 
child,  the  only  treasure  in  his  log  shanty.  The 


128  Camp  and  Trail. 

mite  frets  if  Doc  doesn't  come  to  see  her 
once  in  a  while. 

"  Therefore,  I  propose  that  we  join  forces, 
and  press  forward  together.  I  guess  I'll  keep 
my  nephews  out  here  for  a  week  longer,  and 
take  the  responsibility  of  their  missing  that 
time  at  school.  Now  that  they  have  fallen  in 
with  your  friends,  it  would  be  a  shame  to  sep 
arate  Young  England  and  Young  America 
without  giving  them  a  chance  to  get  friendly." 

Here  Dr.  Phil  beamed  upon  the  five  boys, 
who,  after  one  night  in  the  forest,  sleep 
ing  in  a  light-hearted  row  on  the  evergreen 
boughs,  with  their  feet  to  the  fire,  had  reached 
a  brotherly  intimacy  which  years  of  city  life 
might  not  have  bred. 

"  I  further  propose,"  he  went  on,  "  that  we 
hire  a  roomy  wagon  and  a  pair  of  strong 
horses  from  a  settler  who  has  a  clearing 
about  two  miles  from  here.  There  is  an  old 
logging-road  which  runs  through  the  woods 
towards  the  point  for  which  we're  heading. 
We  could  follow  that  for  the  first  half  of  our 
journey.  It  isn't  a  turnpike,  you  know.  In 
fact,  it's  only  a  broad  track  where  the  under 
brush  has  been  cleared  away,  and  the  trees 
''cut  down,  with  strips  of  corduroy  road  sand 
wiched  in.  But  the  lumbermen  still  haul 


A   Sunday  Among  tJie  Pines.        129 

supplies  over  it  to  their  camps,  and  I  pro 
pose  that  we  follow  their  example.  We  can 
pile  our  tent,  camp  duffle  [stores],  and  all 
our  packs  into  the  wagon,  together  with  the 
hero  of  the  deer-road,"  —  winking  at  Dol, — 
"  and  the  rest  of  us  can  take  turns  in  riding. 
It  will  be  a  big  lark  for  these  youngsters  to 
travel  over  a  corduroy  road.  A  very  bracing 
ride  they'll  have  in  more  senses  than  one  ; 
but  they  can  spin  plenty  of  yarns  about  it 
when  they  get  home." 

The  "youngsters,"  one  and  all,  signified 
their  approval  of  the  suggestion.  Cyrus,  who, 
as  a  college  man,  was  above  this  category, 
was  pleased  to  acquiesce  too. 

"  When  can  we  get  the  wagon,  Doctor?" 
asked  Neal,  burning  to  press  onward.  . 

"  Oh  !  the  day  after  to-morrow,  I  guess. 
And  now,  lads  !  "  Dr.  Phil's  voice  was  seri 
ous,  but  exultant,  "we're  a  thoroughly  happy 
set  of  fellows,  in  accord  with  each  other  and 
our  surroundings.  We  feel  our  brains  clear, 
our  gladness  springing  up,  and  our  lungs 
swelling  to  double  their  size  with  the  whiffs 
which  reach  us  from  those  sky-piercing  pines 
yonder.  So  we  will  remember  that  *  the  wide 
earth  is  our  Father's  temple.'  Over  there  in 
the  woods  we  will  worship  him,  while  mil- 


130  Camp  and  Trail. 

lions  of  forest  creatures  about  us,  flying, 
bounding,  or  building,  in  obedience  to  his 
laws,  simply  worship  too." 

A  music  soft,  deep,  sighing,  like  the  mur 
mur  of  an  organ  under  the  fingers  of  a  master 
musician,  rolled  through  the  pine-tops  as  the 
band  of  campers,  guides  included,  followed 
Doc  into  the  forest.  They  passed  the  clumps 
of  slender  trees  near  the  camp,  and  reached 
a  dimly-lit  green  aisle. 

Towering  pines,  so  tall  and  erect  that  they 
seemed  shooting  upward  to  kiss  the  clouds, 
were  the  pillars  of  their  cathedral.  Its  roof 
of  tasselled  boughs  was  stabbed  by  flashing 
needles  of  sunlight,  which  let  in  a  flickering, 
mellow  radiance,  and  traced  a  pattern  on  the 
woodland  carpet.  Every  whiff  of  forest  air 
was  natural  incense. 

Dr.  Phil  stood  as  if  in  the  audience-chamber 
of  the  King,  and  removed  his  wide-brimmed 

hat. 

"  Now  unto  the   King  eternal,   immortal, 
invisible,  the  only  wise  God,  be  honor  and 
glory,  for  ever  and  ever.     Amen  !  "  he  said. 
'  Then  Cyrus's  voice  led  the  worship. 

''Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow!" 

he  sang,  in  a  strong,  glad  outburst. 


A   Sunday  Among  the  Pines.        131 

Boys  and  guides,  in  a  great  chorus,  swelled 
the  familiar  words.  Each  sweetly  chirping 
woodland  bird,  after  its  own  manner,  echoed 
them.  The  music  among  the  pine-tops 
mingled  with  them.  The  forest  fairly  rang 
with  a  magnificent,  adoring  Doxology. 

"  We  ought  to  be  decent  kind  of  fellows 
after  this,"  said  Cyrus,  when  the  little  service 
was  over. 

And  the  doctor  answered,  — 

"  I  tell  you,  boy,  the  church  was  never 
built  where  a  man  feels  so  ready  to  worship 
the  God-Father  in  spirit  and  in  truth  as  he 
does  in  the  wild  woods." 

And  looking  on  the  six  fresh,  manly  faces 
before  him,  Dr.  Phil  saw  that  this  happy 
woodland  trip  would  have  grander  results 
than  adding  to  the  campers'  inches  and  to 
the  breadth  of  their  shoulders.  For  each 
one  of  them  had  realized  this  morning  that 
behind  all  strength  and  beauties  of  forest 
growth,  behind  their  own  souls'  gladness, 
was  a  Presence  which  they  could  "  almost 
palpably  feel." 


CHAPTER   X. 

FORWARD  ALL! 

^PECULATIONS  about  the  journey,  and 
^  in  especial  about  the  corduroy  road,  were 
rife  in  the  boys'  minds  during  the  forty  and 
odd  hours  which  elapsed  between  the  Sunday 
service  and  the  time  of  their  start. 

The  travellers  met  at  the  settler's  cabin 
early  on  Tuesday  morning,  having  broken 
camp  shortly  after  daybreak.  On  .Monday 
evening  Cyrus  and  Neal,  with  Uncle  Eb,  had 
returned  to  the  bark  hut  to  pack  their  knap 
sacks,  and  make  ready  for  a  forward  march. 
On  the  way  thither,  it  being  just  the  hour  for 
the  deer  to  be  running,  —  that  is,  descending 
from  the  hills  for  an  evening  meal,  —  Neal  got 
a  successful  shot  at  a  small  two-year-old  buck. 
132 


Forward  All !  133 

This  was  a  stroke  of  luck  for  the  campers,  and 
a  necessary  deed  of  death.  It  supplied  them 
with  venison  for  their  journey ;  and,  as  Cyrus 
said,  "  they  had  already  put  a  shamefully  big 
hole  in  Dr.  Phil's  stores,  and  must  procure 
a  respectable  supply  of  meat  to  make  up  for 


it." 


It  also  provided  Tiger  with  plenty  of  bones 
to  crunch  during  his  master's  absence  ;  for  the 
dog  was  left  behind  in  charge  of  the  hut,  as 
indeed  he  often  was  for  a  week  or  more  while 
Uncle  Eb  was  away  guiding.  The  sportsmen 
who  engaged  the  latter's  services  were  gen 
erally  averse  to  the  creature's  presence  with 
the  party,  lest  he  should  scare  their  game. 

Cyrus  and  Neal  bade  him  a  pathetic  fare 
well,  remembering  the  exciting  fun  he  had 
given  them  with  the  raccoon.  Dol  sent  him 
lots  of  approving  messages,  which  were  duly 
delivered,  with  rough  pats  and  shakes,  by 
Uncle  Eb,  who  fully  believed  that  the  brute 
understood  every  word  of  them.  Indeed,  the 
sign  language  of  Tiger's  expressive  tail  con 
firmed  this  opinion. 

Dol  had  remained  at  the  log  camp  with  his 
new  friends,  Dr.  Phil  thinking  it  well  that 
he  should  rest  his  feet  until  the  morning  of 
the  start.  His  brother  promised  to  bring 


134  Camp  and  Trail. 

his  knapsack  and  rifle  to  the  settler's  cabin. 
Uncle  Eb  repossessed  himself  of  his  shot 
gun,  pouch,  and  powder-horn,  which  he  car 
ried  back  to  his  hut,  and  left  under  Tiger's 
protection,  telling  Dol  that  "  if  he  wanted  to 
bag  any  more  black  ducks  he'd  have  to  give 
'em  a  dose  wid  de  rifle,  for  he  warn't  a-goin' 
to  lug  dat  ole  fuzzee  t'rough  de  woods." 

It  was  the  perfection  of  an  October  morn 
ing,  sunshiny  and  pleasant,  with  a  mellow 
freshness  in  the  air  which  matched  the  mel 
low  tints  of  the  forest,  when  the  travellers 
joined  forces  at  the  farm-settlement. 

Engaged  in  the  thrilling  work  of  felling  a 
pine-tree  to  extend  his  father's  clearing,  they 
found  the  settler's  son,  a  brawny  fellow  about 
Cyrus's  age,  in  buckskin  leggings  and  coon- 
skin  cap,  who  wielded  his  axe  with  arms  which 
were  tough  and  knotted  as  pine  limbs.  He 
bawled  to  them  in  the  forceful  language  of 
the  backwoods,  which  to  unaccustomed  ears 
sounded  a  trifle  barbaric,  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  until  his  tree  had  fallen. 

When  the  pine  at  last  tumbled  earthward 
with  a  thud  which  reverberated  for  miles 
through  the  forest,  he  gave  a  mighty  yell, 
waved  his  skin  cap,  and  came  towards  the 
visitors. 


Forward  All !  135 

"  Hulloa,  Lin  !  "  boomed  the  doctor,  greet 
ing  this  native  as  an  old  acquaintance. 

"  Hello,  Doc!"  answered  Lin.  "By  the 
great  horn  spoon !  I  didn't  expect  to  see 
you  here.  Who  are  these  fellers  ? " 

The  doctor  introduced  his  comrades.  Lin 
greeted  them  with  bluff  simplicity,  and  called 
them  one  and  all  by  their  Christian  names  as 
soon  as  these  could  be  found  out.  Doc  alone 
came  in  for  his  short  title  —  if  such  it  could 
be  called.  Luckily  the  campers  of  both 
nationalities,  from  Cyrus  downward,  were 
without  any  element  of  snobbery  in  their 
dispositions.  It  seemed  to  them  only  a  jolly 
part  of  the  untrammelled  forest  life  that  man 
should  go  back  to  his  primitive  relations  with 
his  brother  man  ;  that  in  the  woods,  as  Doc 
said,  "manhood  should  be  the  only  passport," 
and  that  titles  and  distinctions  should  never 
be  thought  of  by  guides  or  anybody  else. 
They  were  well- pleased  to  be  taken  simply 
for  what  they  were,  — jolly,  companionable 
fellows,  —  and  to  be  valued  according  to  the 
amount  of  grit  and  good-temper  they  showed. 

And  they  learned  this  morning  to  appreci 
ate  the  pioneer  courage  and  resolute  spirit  of 
the  rugged  settlers  who  had  cleared  a  home 
for  themselves  amid  the  surrounding  wilder- 


136  Camp  and  Trail. 

ness  of  forest  and  stream.  Their  roughness 
of  speech  was  as  nothing  in  comparison  with 
their  brave  endurance  of  hardships,  their  deeds 
of  heroism,  and  their  free-handed  hospitality. 

Lin  led  his  visitors  straight  to  a  log  cabin, 
before  which  his  father,  a  veteran  woodsman, 
who  bore  the  scars  of  bears'  teeth  upon  his 
body,  was  digging  and  planting.  This  old 
farmer,  too,  greeted  Doc  as  a  friend,  and 
when  the  wagon  was  talked  about,  was  quite 
willing  to  do  anything  to  serve  him. 

"  But  ye  must  have  a  square  meal  afore  ye 
travel,"  he  said.  "  Jerusha !  I  couldn't  let 
ye  go  without  eatin'.  Mother ! "  shouting 
to  his  wife,  who  was  inside  the  cabin.  "  Say, 
Mother!  Ha'n't  ye  got  somethin'  fer  these 
fellers  to  munch  ?" 

Forthwith  a  big,  rosy  woman,  who  had  her 
self  fought  a  bear  in  her  time,  and  had  shot 
him,  too,  before  he  attacked  her  farmyard, 
hustled  round,  and  got  up  such  a  meal  as  the 
travellers  had  not  tasted  since  they  entered 
the  woods.  They  had  a  splendid  "  tuck-in," 
consisting  of  fried  ham,  boiled  eggs,  potatoes, 
hot  bread,  yellow  butter,  and  coffee.  And  the 
meal  was  accompanied  with  thrilling  stories 
from  the  lips  of  the  old  settler  about  the  hard 
ships  and  desperate  scenes  of  earlier  pioneer- 


Forward  All !  137 

ing  days.  Doc  coaxed  him  to  relate  these  for 
the  boys'  benefit.  And  many  eyes  dilated  as 
he  told  of  blood-curdling  adventures  with  the 
"  lunk  soos,"  or  "  Indian  devil,"  the  dreadful 
catamount  or  panther,  which  was  once  the 
terror  of  Maine  woodsmen. 

"  So  help  me !  I'd  a  heap  sooner  meet  a 
ragin'  lion  than  a  panther,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  My  own  father  came  near  to  bein'  eaten  alive 
by  one  when  I  was  a  kid:  He  was  workin' 
with  a  gang  o'  lumbermen  in  these  forests  at 
timber-makin',  and  was  returnin'  to  their 
camp,  when  the  beast  bounced  out  of  a  thicket 
all  of  a  suddint.  Poor  dad  was  skeered  stiff. 
The  thing  screeched,  —  a  screech  so  turrible 
that  it  was  enough  to  turn  a  man's  sweat  to  ice- 
water,  an'  a'most  set  him  crazy.  Dad  hadn't 
no  gun  with  him  ;  so  he  shinned  up  the  nigh- 
est  tree  like  mad,  an'  hollered  fit  to  bust  his 
windpipe,  hopin'  t'other  fellers  at  the  camp 
'ud  hear  him. 

"  But  the  panther  made  up  another  tree 
hard  by,  an'  sprang  'pon  him.  Fust  it  grabbed 
dad  by  the  heel.  Then  it  tore  a  big  piece 
out  o'  the  calf  of  his  leg,  an'  devoured  it. 
Think  of  it,  boys  !  Them's  the  sort  o'  dangers 
that  the  fust  settlers  an'  lumbermen  in  these 
woods  had  to  face. 


138  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Wai,  dad  reckoned  he  was  a  goner,  sure. 
But  he  managed  to  cut  a  limb  from  the  tree 
with  his  huntin'-knife,  an'  tied  the  knife  to  the 
end  of  it.  With  that  he  fought  the  beast 
while  his  comrades,  who  had  heard  his  mad 
yells,  were  gittin'  to  him.  With  the  fust  shot 
that  one  of  'em  fired  the  catamount  made 
off. 

"  Dad  was  the  sickest  man  ye  ever  saw  fer 
a  spell.  His  wound  healed  after  a  bit,  under 
the  care  of  an  Injun  doctor;  but  his  hair,  which 
had  been  soot-black  on  that  evenin'  when  he 
was  returnin'  to  camp,  was  as  white  as  milk 
afore  he  got  about  again  ;  an'  he  was  notional 
and  narvous-like  as  long  as  he  lived. 

"  He  said  the  animal  was  like  a  tremenjous 
•big  cat,  about  four  feet  high  an'  five  or  six 
feet  in  length.  It  was  a  sort  o'  bluish-gray 
color.  An'  it  had  a  very  long  tail  curled  up 
at  the  end,  which  it  moved  like  a  cat's. 

"  Boys,  that  catamount  is  the  only  animal 
that  an  Indian  is  skeered  of.  Ask  a  red  man 
to  hunt  a  moose,  a  bear,  or  a  wolf,  an'  he's 
ready  to  follow  it  through  forest  an'  swamp 
till  he  downs  it  or  drops.  But  ask  him  to 
chase  a  panther,  an'  he'll  shake  his  head  an' 
say,  '  He  all  one  big  debil ! '  He  calls  the 
beast,  in  his  own  lingo,  '  lunk  soos,'  which 


Forward  All 7  139 

means  '  Injun  devil ; '  an'  so  we  woodsmen 
call  it  too." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Lin  put  his 
head  in  at  the  cabin-door,  and  announced 
that  "  the  wagon  an'  bosses  war  a'  ready." 

"  Wai,  boys,  I  swan  !  it's  many  a  long  year 
since  a  panther  was  seen  in  these  forests,  so 
ye  needn't  feel  skeery  about  meetin'  one," 
said  the  old  settler,  as  he  stood  outside  his 
log  home,  and  watched  his  guests  start.  "  I'll 
'low  ye  won't  find  travellin'  too  easy  'long  the 
ole  corduroy  road.  Come  again  !  " 

There  was  much  waving  of  hats  as  the 
wagon,  a  roomy,  four-wheeled  vehicle,  moved 
off,  with  a  creaking  in  its  joints  as  if  it  were 
squealing  a  protest  against  its  load,  which 
consisted  of  the  five  lads,  together  with 
knapsacks,  guns,  tents,  and  the  camp  duffle. 

"  Forward,  all ! "  shouted  Dr.  Phil,  who 
had  been  chosen  to  act  as  captain  of  the  two 
companies  during  the  few  days  while  they 
journeyed  together. 

Lin,  who  was  charioteer,  cracked  a  long 
whip  above  his  horses.  The  boys  cheered, 
while  Doc,  Cyrus,  and  the  two  guides  fell 
behind,  choosing  to  follow  the  wagon  on  foot 
for  the  first  few  miles  of  the  journey. 

"Where   did  you  buy  that,    Lin?"  asked 


140  Camp  and  Trail. 

Neal,  climbing  over  to  a  perch  beside  the 
driver,  and  pointing  to  a  heavy  Colt's  re 
volver  which  the  young  settler  was  buckling 
round  his  waist. 

"  Didn't  buy  it.  I  traded  a  calf  for  it  at 
Greenville  more'n  a  year  ago,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Fust-rate  gun  it  is,  too,  I  vum  !  I've  stood 
at  our  cabin-door,  and  killed  many  a  buck 
with  it.  On'y  'tain't  much  good  for  tackling 
a  bear.  Wish't  the  bears  ud  get  as  scarce 
as  the  panthers  !  Then  we'd  be  rid  o'  two 
master  pests.  Hello  !  Don't  y'u  git  to 
tumbling  out  jist  yet !  That's  on'y  a  circum 
stance  to  the  jolts  there'll  be  when  we  strike 
a  bit  o'  corduroy  road." 

Lin  Hathaway  grabbed  young  Farrar  by 
the  elbow  while  he  spoke,  and  held  him 
steady  with  the  horny  hand  which  had  swung 
the  axe  against  the  doomed  pine-tree.  For 
Neal  had  shown  a  sudden  inclination  to  pitch 
headlong  out  of  the  wagon,  as  its  right  wheels 
were  hoisted  a  foot  or  more  above  the  left 
ones  by  rolling  over  a  mossy  bump  in  the 
ground. 

For  the  first  five  miles  the  forest  road  had 
been  simply  constructed  thus  :  First,  the  bushy 
undergrowth  had  been  cut  away  and  thrown 
to  one  side,  the  space  cleared  being  about 


Forward  All !  141 

eight  feet  wide  ;  then  all  trees  growing  in 
the  range  of  this  track  had  been  sawn  off 
close  to  the  ground,  and  windfalls  which 
barred  the  way  were  removed.  It  was  a 
rude  highway,  with  plenty  of  deformities, 
such  as  ends  of  rotting  stumps,  twisted  roots, 
ridges  and  bumps  which  had  never  been 
levelled ;  yet  it  was  beautiful  beyond  any 
smooth,  well-graded  road  which  the  travellers 
had  ever  seen.  As  it  wound  along  in  grace 
ful  curves  through  the  woods,  it  was  shaded 
now  by  an  emerald  arch  of  evergreens,  now 
by  a  royal  crimson  canopy  of  maple  branches, 
while  patches  of  buff,  orange,  and  dull  red 
commingled  where  other  trees  interlaced  with 
these  to  whisper  woodland  secrets. 

But  the  boys  soon  understood  what  Doc 
meant  when  he  spoke  of  their  having  "  a 
bracing  ride  in  more  senses  than  one  ;  "  for 
the  motion  of  the  wagon  was  a  giddy  series 
of  jolts  and  bounces,  with  just  sufficient  in 
terval  between  each  shock  for  them  to  brace 
themselves,  with  stiffened  backbones,  for  the 
next  upheaval.  They  had  already  begun,  as 
Royal  said,  "  to  have  kinks  in  all  their  limbs," 
when  Lin  suddenly  announced,  — 

"  Yon's  a  bit  o'  corduroy  road,  I  declar' !  " 
He  pointed  with  his  whip  ahead,  and  the 


142  Camp  and  Trail. 

travellers  shot  out  their  necks  to  see  this 
novel  highway.  It  extended  for  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  over  a  swamp,  and  spoke 
volumes  for  the  energy  and  ingenuity  of  the 
hardy  lumbermen  who  constructed  it. 

These  brawny  heroes,  who  are  fine  types 
of  American  grit  and  manhood,  when  clearing 
a  broad  track  over  which  their  great  timber 
logs  could  be  hauled  from  the  depths  of  the 
forest  to  the  landing  on  some  big  river,  had 
found  the  swampy  tracts  an  impassable  ob 
stacle  for  animals  trammelled  with  harness 
and  a  heavy  load. 

They  bridged  them  by  laying  down  logs 
cut  to  even  lengths  in  a  slightly  slanting 
position  across  the  way  for  the  entire  extent 
of  miry  ground.  Each  piece  of  timber  was 
tightly  wedged  in  by  its  fellow;  nevertheless, 
there  was  a  space  of  several  inches  between 
their  rounded  tops.  Hence  the  track  pre 
sented  a  striped  appearance,  which  suggested 
to  some  spirited  genius  among  woodsmen  its 
name  of  "  corduroy  road." 

"  Well,  Neal,  do  you  think  you  can  tell 
your  folks  a  thing  or  two  about  forest  travel 
ling  when  you  get  back  to  England  ?  "  asked 
Doc,  when  the  order  of  march  was  changed, 
young  Farrar  and  the  Sinclairs  turning  out 


Forward  All !  143 

to  do  their  share  of  tramping,  while  the  doc 
tor,  Cyrus,  and  the  guides  benefited  by  "a 
lift." 

"  I  rather  think  I  can,'*  answered  Neal ; 
"  but  goodness  !  I  feel  as  if  there  were  aches 
and  bruises  all  over  me.  Once  or  twice  my 
head  seemed  jumping  straight  off  my  shoul 
ders.  No  more  going  in  a  wagon  over  cor 
duroy  roads  for  me  !  I'd  rather  be  leg- weary 
any  day." 

The  travellers  halted  that  evening  about 
five  o'clock  on  the  banks  of  a  lonely  stream. 
The  guides  pitched  the  two  tents  —  Joe  had 
provided  one  for  his  party  —  facing  each 
other  on  a  patch  of  clearing,  with  a  space  of 
about  fifteen  feet  between  them,  in  the  centre 
of  which  blazed  a  roaring  camp-fire.  Now 
all  the  axes  and  knifes  among  the  band  were 
in  demand  for  cutting  and  sharpening  stakes 
and  ridge-poles  on  which  to  stretch  their 
canvas. 

Moreover,  no  evergreen  boughs  could  be 
procured  for  beds ;  and  the  boys  had  to  work 
with  a  will,  helping  Uncle  Eb  and  Joe  to  cut 
bundles  of  the  long,  rank  grass  that  grew  by 
the  water  to  form  a  bed  for  their  tired  bodies. 

Every  one  was  camp-hungry,  as  they  had 
not  halted  for  a  meal  since  leaving  the  settle- 


144  Camp  and  Trail. 

ment.  After  a  splendid  supper  of  venison, 
broiled  over  sizzling  logs,  bread,  and  fried 
potatoes,  —  for  they  had  added  to  their  stores 
at  the  farm,  — they  had  a  glorious  social  hour 
by  the  camp-fire.  Joe  got  off  any  amount 
of  "  ripping"  stories  ;  and  the  sound  of  many 
a  jolly  chorus,  led  by  Cyrus,  and  swelled  by 
the  musical  efforts  of  the  entire  crew,  min 
gled  with  the  lonely  rustle  of  the  night  wind 
among  faded  and  drifting  leaves. 

When  Doc's  summons  came  to  turn  in, 
they  stretched  themselves  upon  the  grassy 
beds,  not  undressing,  as  the  night  was  chilly 
and  the  temporary  quarters  were  not  so  snug 
as  their  previous  ones.  Still  in  their  warm  jer 
seys,  trousers,  woollen  stockings,  and  knitted 
caps,  with  the  heat  from  the  piled-up  camp- 
fire  streaming  under  the  raised  flaps  of  the 
tents,  they  slept  as  cosily  as  if  they  lay  on 
spring  mattresses,  surrounded  by  pictured 
walls. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BEAVER    WORKS. 

ABOUT  noon  on  the  following  day  they 
were  obliged  to  bid  farewell  to  Lin 
Hathaway,  his  wagon  and  horses,  as  the  log 
ging-road  went  no  farther.  The  young  settler 
turned  homeward  rather  regretfully.  It  might 
be  many  months  again  before  he  got  a  chance 
of  talking  to  anybody  beyond  his  father  and 
mother,  and  the  boys  had  brought  a  dash  of 
outside  life  into  his  woodland  solitude. 

The  travellers  proceeded  on  foot  through  a 
dense  forest,  which,  luckily  for  Dol,  had  little 
undergrowth  and  mostly  a  soft  carpet  of  moss 
or  dry  pine  needles.  Still  they  had  plenty 
of  climbing  over  windfalls,  with  many  rough 
pokes  and  jibes  from  forward  boughs  and 
145 


146  Camp  and  Trail. 

rotten  limbs,  to  rob  the  way  of  sameness. 
Through  this  labyrinth  they  were  safely  piloted 
by  Uncle  Eb  and  Joe,  the  latter  with  his  com 
pass  in  his  hand,  and  the  former  simply 
studying  the  "  Indian's  compass,"  which  is 
observing  how  the  moss  grows  upon  the  tree- 
trunks,  there  being  always  a  greater  quantity 
on  the  side  which  faces  north. 

Before  nightfall  they  reached  another  log 
cabin,  tenanted  by  a  man  who  had  just  settled 
down  for  the  purpose  of  clearing  up  a  farm. 
Here  they  were  lodged  for  the  night,  without 
trouble  of  making  camp. 

The  third  day  of  their  journey  was  marked 
by  two  sensations.  They  halted  for  a  short 
rest  at  a  point  where  there  was  an  extensive 
break  in  the  forest.  Scarcely  had  they 
emerged  from  the  gloom  of  a  dense  growth 
of  cedars,  when  Dol  exclaimed,  — 

"  Good  gracious  !  That  looks  as  if  people 
had  been  building  a  jolly  high  railroad  out 
here." 

On  the  right  rose  a  bare,  steep  ridge  of 
sand  and  gravel,  nearly  ninety  feet  in  height, 
and  closely  resembling  a  railway  embankment. 

"Well,  boy,"  laughed  Dr.  Phil,  "  if  that's 
a  railroad,  Nature  built  it,  and  by  a  mighty 
curious  process  too.  The  sand,  rocks,  and 


Beaver  Works.  147 

gravel  of  which  it  is  mostly  formed  must 
have  been  swept  here  by  a  great  rush  of 
waters  that  once  prevailed  over  this  land. 
We  call  the  ridge  a  '  Horseback/  If  you  like, 
we'll  climb  to  the  top  of  it,  after  we've  had 
our  snack  [lunch] ,  and  you  can  get  a  peep 
at  the  surrounding  country." 

So  they  did.  The  top  was  level,  and  wide 
enough  for  two  carriages  to  drive  abreast ; 
and  the  view  from  it  was  one  which  could 
never  be  forgotten.  Around  them  were  mil 
lions  of  acres  of  forest  land,  beautiful  with 
the  contrasts  of  October  ;  here  dipping  into  a 
cedar  valley,  in  the  midst  of  which  they  saw 
the  silver  smile  of  a  woodland  lake,  there  ris 
ing  into  a  hill  crowned  with  towering  pines, 
some  of  them  over  a  hundred  feet  in  height. 

But,  most  thrilling  sight  of  all,  they  beheld, 
only  half  a  dozen  miles  away,  rising  in  sub 
lime  grandeur  against  the  sky,  the  mountain 
of  mountains  in  Maine,  —  great  Katahdin. 
They  had  caught  glimpses  of  its  curved  line 
of  peaks  before.  Now  they  saw  its  forests, 
and  the  rugged  slides  where  avalanches  of 
bowlders  and  earth  from  the  top  had  ploughed 
heavily  downward,  sweeping  away  all  growth. 

Cyrus  lifted  his  hat,  and  waved  it  at  the 
distant  mass. 


148  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  he  cried.  "  There's  the  home 
of  storms  !  There's  old  Katahdin  !  The  In 
dians  named  it  Ktaadn,  '  the  biggest  moun 
tain.'" 

"  Want  to  hear  the  Indian  legend  about  it, 
lads  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Phil. 

A  general  chirp  of  assent  was  his  reply, 
and  the  doctor  began  :  — 

"  Well,  when  the  redskins  owned  these 
forests,  they  believed  that  the  summit  of 
Katahdin  was  the  home  of  their  evil  spirit, 
or,  as  they  call  him,  '  The  Big  Devil.'  He 
was  named  Pamolah.  And  he  was  a  mighty 
unpleasant  sort  of  neighbor.  Once,  so  tradi 
tion  says,  he  ran  away  with  a  beautiful  Indian 
maiden,  and  carried  her  up  to  his  lonely  lair 
among  those  peaks.  When  her  tribe  tried 
to  rescue  her,  he  let  loose  great  storms  upon 
them,  his  artillery  being  thunder,  lightning, 
hail,  and  rain,  before  which  they  were  forced 
to  flee  helter-skelter.  An  old  red  chief  long 
ago  told  me  the  story,  and  added  gravely 
that  '  it  was  sartin  true,  for  han'some  squaw 
always  catch  'em  debil.' 

"  The  foundation  of  the  legend  lies  in  the 
fact  that  there  really  is  a  very  curious  granite 
basin  among  Katahdin's  peaks,  and  it  is  the 
birthplace  of  most  storms  which  sweep  over 


Beaver  Works.  149 

our  State.  I  myself  have  seen  clouds  forming 
in  it,  when  I  made  an  ascent  of  the  mountain 
in  my  younger  days,  and  whirling  out  in  all 
directions.  The  roar  of  its  winds  may  some 
times  be  heard  miles  away.  There  are  several 
ponds  in  the  basin  ;  one  of  them,  a  tiny,  clear 
lake,  without  any  visible  outlet,  is  Pamolah's 
fishing-ground.  That's  the  yarn  about  the 
mountain  as  I  heard  it." 

"Ain't  it  a'most  time  for  us  to  be  gittin' 
down  from  this  Horseback,  Doc  ?  "  asked  Joe, 
who  had  been  listening  with  the  others.  "I 
thought  we'd  reach  the  farm  you're  heading 
for  to-night,  but  we're  half  a  dozen  miles  off 
it  yet ;  and  we  can't  do  more'n  another  mile 
or  two  afore  it'll  be  time  to  halt  and  make 
camp.  There's  some  pretty  bad  travelling  and 
a  plaguy  bit  of  swamp  ahead." 

"  I  guess  you're  about  right,  Joe,"  said  Doc, 
rising  with  alacrity  from  the  stone  where  he 
had  seated  himself  while  telling  his  yarn. 

Joe's  bad  travelling  meant  a  great  deal  of 
tripping  and  floundering  through  soft  mud 
and  mire,  with  slippery  moss-stones  sand 
wiched  in,  and  dwarfed  bushes  which  ran  along 
the  ground,  and  twisted  themselves  in  an  al 
most  impassable  tangle.  These  had  a  knack 
of  catching  a  fellow's  feet,  and  causing  him  to 


150  Camp  and  Trail. 

sprawl  forward  on  his  face  and  hands,  where 
upon  his  knapsack  would  hit  him  an  astound 
ing  thwack  on  the  back. 

After  three-quarters  of  an  hour  of  this  fun, 
very  muddy,  clammy  with  perspiration,  and 
thoroughly  winded,  the  party  reached  firmer 
ground,  and  the  guides  called^a  halt. 

"  Guess  we'd  better  rest  a  bit,"  said  Joe, 
"  afore  we  go  farther.  There's  nothing  in 
forest  travelling  that'll  take  the  breath  out  of 
a  man  like  crossing  a  swamp,"  eying  com 
passionately  the  city  folk ;  for  he  himself  was 
as  "fit"  as  when  he  started.  "Then  we'd 
better  follow  that  stream  till  we  strike  a  good 
place  for  a  camping-ground.  What  say,  Doc  ?  " 

Dr.  Phil,  as  captain,  signified  his  assent. 
After  a  short  breathing- spell  he  again  gave 
the  command,  "  Forward ! "  And  his  company 
pushed  on  into  the  woods,  following  the 
course  of  a  dark  stream  which  had  gurgled 
through  the  swamp. 

"  There  used  to  be  an  old  beaver-dam  some- 
wheres  about  here,"  broke  forth  Joe  presently, 
when  they  had  made  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
the  younger  guide  taking  the  lead,  for  he  was 
evidently  more  at  home  in  this  part  of  the  for 
est  land  than  his  senior,  Uncle  Eb.  "Hullo, 
now!  there  it  is.  Look,  gentlemen  !  " 


Beaver  Works.  151 

He  pointed  to  a  curved  bank  of  brush 
wood,  mostly  alder  branches,  piled  together 
in  curious  topsyturvy  fashion,  which  formed 
a  dam  across  the  stream.  It  bristled  with 
sticks,  poking  out  and  up  in  every  direction  ; 
for  the  bushy  ends  of  the  boughs  had  been 
heavily  plastered  with  mud  and  stones,  to 
keep  them  down. 

"That  a  beaver-dam!"  gasped  Neal  in 
amazement.  "  Why,  I  always  had  an  idea 
that  beavers  were  half  human  in  intelligence, 
and  wove  their  branches  in  and  out  in  a 
sort  of  neat  basketwork  when  making  dams. 
That's  a  funny  rough-and-tumble  looking  old 
pile." 

"  It's  a  good  water-tight  dam,  for  all  that," 
answered  Cyrus.  "  And  don't  you  begin  to 
underrate  Mr.  Beaver's  intelligence  until  you 
see  more  of  his  works.  I've  torn  the  bottom 
out  of  a  dam  like  this  on  a  cold,  rainy  night, 
—  beavers  like  rainy  nights  for  work,  —  and 
then  hidden  myself  in  some  bushes  to  watch 
the  result.  It  was  a  trial  of  strength  and 
patience,  I  assure  you,  to  remain  there  for 
six  mortal  hours,  —  though  I  had  rubber  over 
alls  on,  —  with  wet  twigs  and  leaves  slapping 
my  face.  But  the  sight  I  saw  was  more  won 
derful  than  anything  I  could  have  imagined. 


152  Camp  and  Trail. 

There  was  a  cloudy,  watery  moon  ;  and  shortly 
after  it  rose,  five  beavers  appeared  upon  the 
dam,  scrambling  up  and  down,  and  examining 
the  great  hole  through  which  the  water  was 
fast  leaking  out  of  their  pond.  Then,  follow 
ing  a  big  fellow,  who  was  evidently  the  boss 
beaver,  they  swam  to  the  bank.  He  stationed 
himself  near  a  tree  about  twenty  inches  in 
circumference,  and  his  four  boys  at  once 
started  to  fell  it.  I  tell  you  they  worked 
like  hustlers,  each  one  sawing  on  it  in  turn 
with  his  sharp  teeth,  and  sometimes  two 
of  them  together  on  different  parts  of  the 
trunk. 

"At  last  the  tree  —  it  was  an  ash — fell, 
toppling  into  the  water  just  where  the  beavers 
wanted  it.  They  pushed  and  tugged  it  down 
stream  for  about  ten  yards,  to  the  dam,  and 
propped  it  against  the  opening  which  I  had 
made.  I  couldn't  see  the  rest  of  the  opera 
tions  clearly  ;  but  I  caught  glimpses  of  them, 
marching  about  on  their  hind-legs,  carrying 
mud  snug  up  to  their  chins  like  this,"  here 
Cyrus  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest.  "And 
before  daybreak  that  dam  was  perfectly  re 
paired,  with  never  a  leak  in  it. 

"  You  know  they  build  the  dams  in  very 
shallow  water,  only  a  few  inches  deep  ;  and 


Beaver  Works.  153 

they  generally  roll  in  a  couple  of  long  logs 
for  a  solid  foundation.  It  was  one  of  these 
which  I  had  torn  out.  Now,  Neal,  what  do 
you  say  about  the  beaver's  intelligence?" 

"  If  I  didn't  know  you,  Cyrus,  I'd  say  you 
were  making  up  as  you  went  along,"  answered 
Neal.  "  It  seems  one  of  those  things  which 
a  fellow  can  scarcely  believe  in.  Hulloa ! 
What's  that  ?  " 

A  loud  report,  like  the  bang  of  a  gun, 
made  all  the  boys,  who  had  been  standing 
very  quietly,  gazing  at  the  dam,  suddenly 
jump. 

"  It's  only  a  beaver  striking  the  water  with 
his  tail,"  laughed  Cyrus.  "  He  has  been 
swimming  about  somewhere  up-stream,  and 
has  scented  us,  and  dived.  I  have  heard  one 
do  that  a  dozen  times  in  the  night,  if  he 
detected  the  presence  of  man  ;  but  it's  very 
unusual  in  the  daytime,  for  they  rarely  ven 
ture  out  in  broad  light.  In  diving,  if  sud 
denly  alarmed,  they  strike  the  surface  of  the 
water  a  tremendous  whack  with  their  tails, 
as  a  signal  of  alarm,  making  this  report, 
which  in  still  weather  resounds  for  a  great 
distance. 

"  I'm  very  glad  you  heard  it,  boys  ;  for 
your  chances  of  seeing  the  master  beaver  or 


154  Camp  and  Trail. 

any  of  his  colony  are  mighty  slim.  But  we'll 
probably  come  on  their  lodge  a  little  higher 
up." 

Above  the  shallow  water  where  the  dam 
was  built,  the  stream  widened  into  a  broad, 
deep  pool.  About  fifty  yards  ahead,  in  the 
centre  of  this,  was  a  tiny  island.  On  its  ex 
treme  edge  Joe  pointed  out  the  beaver  lodge. 
It  was  shaped  something  like  a  huge  bee 
hive,  being  about  a  dozen  feet  in  diameter 
and  five  feet  high.  The  outside  seemed  to 
be  entirely  covered  with  mud  and  fibrous 
roots,  through  which  the  sticks  which  formed 
its  framework  poked  out  here  and  there. 

"  The  doors  are  all  under  water,"  said  Cyrus, 
"  and  so  far  down  that  they'll  be  beneath  the 
ice  when  the  stream  freezes  in  winter.  Other 
wise  the  beavers  could  not  reach  their  pile  of 
food-wood,  which  they  keep  at  the  bottom, 
and  would  starve  to  death.  They  are  clerks 
of  the  weather,  if  you  like.  They  seem  to 
know  when  the  first  hard  frost  is  coming,  and 
sink  their  stores  a  day  or  two  before.  Man 
has  not  yet  discovered  their  mysterious  knack 
of  sinking  wood,  and  keeping  it  stationary 
through  many  months. 

"They  feed  on  the  inner  bark  of  poplar, 
white  birch,  and  willow  trees.  In  autumn 


Beaver  Works.  155 

they  fell  these  along  the  banks,  generally 
so  that  they  will  fall  into  the  water,  tug  and 
push  them  down-stream,  and  float  them  near 
to  their  lodges.  If  the  trees  are  too  big  to 
be  easily  handled,  they  saw  them  into  conve 
nient  lengths." 

"  I  call  it  tough  luck,  not  being  able  to  get 
a  sight  of  the  animals,  after  seeing  so  much 
of  their  works,"  grumbled  Royal. 

"  Ye  might  wait  here  till  midnight,  and  not 
have  any  better,"  said  Joe.  "That  fellow's 
tail  was  like  a  fire-alarm  to  them.  They  ain't 
to  home  now,  you  bet!  They've  dusted  out 
of  their  house  as  if  it  was  on  fire ;  and  they've 
either  dived  to  the  bottom,  or  hidden  them 
selves  in  holes  along  the  bank.  Guess  we'd 
better  be  moving  on.  It's  a'most  time  to 
think  about  making  camp." 

"  The  beavers  have  been  working  here!" 
exclaimed  the  guide  a  few  minutes  later,  as 
he  strode  ahead.  "  These  white  birches  were 
felled  by  'em ;  and  a  dandy  job  they  did 


too." 


He  pointed  to  two  slim  birches  which  lay 
prone  with  their  tops  in  the  water,  and  to  a 
third,  the  trunk  of  which  was  partly  sawn 
through  in  more  than  one  place.  The  ground 
was  strewn  with  little  clippings  of  timber, 


156  Camp  and  Trail. 

bearing  the  saw-marks  of  the  beavers'  teeth. 
The  boys  gathered  them  up  as  curiosities. 

"  Oh,  the  skilful  little  animals  can  beat  this 
work  by  long  odds ! "  exclaimed  Doc.  "  These 
trunks  only  measure  from  eight  to  twelve 
inches  in  circumference.  I've  seen  a  tree 
fully  two  feet  round  which  was  felled  by 
them.  Say,  Joe  !  don't  you  think  we'd  better 
camp  to-night  somewhere  on  the  brulee  ?  " 

"Just  what  I'm  planning,  Doc,"  answered 
Joe.  "  We  must  be  pretty  near  it  now." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  party  filed 
out  of  the  dense  woods,  passed  through  a 
grove  of  young  spruces,  forded  a  brook  which 
emptied  itself  into  the  stream  they  were  fol 
lowing,  and  came  upon  a  scene  blasted,  bar 
ren,  and  unutterably  dreary. 

The  band  of  boys,  who,  in  spite  of  swamps 
and  jungles,  had  learned  to  love  the  forest 
dearly,  for  its  many  beauties,  and  for  the  wild 
offspring  with  which  it  teemed,  sorrowfully 
gasped,  as  if  they  saw  the  skeleton  of  a 
friend. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  GO    IT,    OLD    BRUIN  !  " 

BEFORE  them  lay  a  ruined  tract  of  coun 
try,  extending  northward  farther  than 
eye  could  reach.  It  is  called  by  Maine 
woodsmen  a  brul'ee,  a  name  borrowed  from 
their  French-Canadian  neighbors,  who  dwell 
across  the  boundary  line  which  separates  the 
Dominion  from  the  United  States. 

The  word  signifies  " burnt  tract;"  but  it 
gives  a  feeble  idea  of  the  fire-smitten,  black 
ened  region  on  which  the  lads  looked. 

The  forest  until  now  had  been  a  wilderness 
truly,  but  a  wilderness  where  every  kind  and 
size  of  growth,  from  the  giant  pine  to  the 
creeping  wintergreen  and  shaded  mosses, 
mingled  in  beautiful  confusion,  Here  it  be- 
157 


158  Camp  and  Trail. 

came  a  desert.  For  the  terrible  forest  fires, 
the  woodsman's  tragic  enemy,  had  swept  over 
it  not  long  before,  devastating  an  area  of 
many  square  miles.  Millions  of  dollars  worth 
of  valuable  timber  had  been  reduced  to  rotting 
embers.  Storm-defying  pines  had  crashed  to 
the  earth,  and  were  overridden  by  the  flames 
in  their  wild  rush  onward.  Sometimes  only  a 
smutty  stump  showed  where  they  had  stood  ; 
sometimes,  robbed  of  life  and  every  limb,  por 
tions  of  the  fire-eaten  trunks  still  remained 
erect,  —  bare,  blackened  poles.  All  smaller 
growth,  and  even  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
parched  by  summer  heats,  had  burned  like 
tinder.  Rocks  and  stones  were  baked  and 
crumbling. 

"  Boys,  that's  the  most  mournful  sight  a 
woodsman  can  see,"  said  Doc,  looking  away 
over  the  wrecked  region,  touched  with  golden 
lights  from  an  October  sunset.  "  It  makes 
one  who  loves  the  woods  feel  as  if  he  had 
lost  a  living  friend." 

"  Well,  'tain't  no  manner  o'  use  to  fret  over 
it,"  declared  Joe  energetically.  "  Nature  don't 
waste  time  in  fretting,  you  bet!  She  starts 
in  and  tries  to  cover  the  stripped  ground,  as 
if  she  was  sort  of  ashamed  to  have  it  seen." 

The  guide  pointed  earthward.     At  his  feet 


"Go  it,  Old  Brian!"  159 

a  dwarfed  growth  of  blueberry  bushes  and 
tiny  trees  was  already  springing"  up  to  screen 
the  unsightly,  ash-strewn  land. 

"  True  enough,  Joe  !  Nature  is  a  grand  one 
for  remedies,"  answered  the  doctor.  "Still,  it 
will  be  half  a  century  or  more  before  she  can 
raise  a  timber  growth  here  again.  Hulloa! 
Dol,  what  are  you  fellows  up  to?" 

While  his  elders  were  studying  the  bru- 
lee,  Dol,  who  objected  to  dreary  sights,  had 
marched  down  to  the  brink  of  the  stream, 
accompanied  by  Royal's  young  brothers,  Will 
and  Martin  Sinclair.  The  little  river  gurgled 
and  frisked  along  beside  the  burnt  tract,  like 
a  line  of  life  bordering  death.  It  seemed  to 
the  boys  to  prattle  about  its  victory  over  the 
flames  when  it  stopped  their  sweeping  course, 
so  that  the  woods  on  its  opposite  bank  were 
uninjured,  as  were  those  beyond  the  brook 
in  the  rear. 

"We're  studying  the  ways  of  the  great 
sea-serpent !  "  shouted  back  Dol,  who  was 
splashing  about  in  a  sedgy  pool. 

By  and  by  when  the  guides  had  finished 
their  work  of  making  camp,  when  they  had 
pitched  the  tents,  cut  boughs  for  beds  and 
fuel  in  the  spruce  grove  behind,  and  were 
cooking  an  odorous  supper,  the  three  juve- 


160  Camp  and  Trail. 

niles  came  slowly  towards  the  camp-fire  from 
the  water. 

"  What  on  earth  have  you  got  there,  young 
one  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Phil ;  for  Adolphus  Farrar 
was  bareheaded,  and  carried  his  hat  very  gin 
gerly,  with  its  corners  clutched  together  to 
form  a  bag. 

"The  big  sea-serpent  himself,"  answered 
Dol  mysteriously. 

Of  a  sudden  he  opened  his  dripping  hat, 
and  spilled  out  a  small  water-snake,  about  ten 
inches  long,  upon  the  doctor's  lap. 

There  was  a  great  roar  of  laughter,  in  which 
Dol's  abettors,  Will  and  Martin,  joined  with 
cheerful  shouts.  The  little  joke  had  the  effect 
of  winning  everybody's  thoughts  from  roar 
ing  flames,  wrecked  forests,  and  the  dreary 
brul'ee.  Uncle  Eb  killed  the  snake,  maintain 
ing  that  water-snakes  were  "  plaguy  p'ison- 
ous,"  while  Cyrus  scouted  the  idea.  The 
supper  that  evening  was  a  merry  enough 
meal.  The  camp,  lit  by  the  ruddy  glow 
from  its  great  fire,  looked  an  oasis  of  light, 
.  warmth,  and  jollity  in  the  black  and  burnt 
desert. 

The  darky,  hearing  Cyrus  declare  that  he 
was  fearfully  hungry,  mixed  some  flapjacks  to 
form  a  second  course,  after  the  venison  steaks 


"Go  it,  Old  Bruin!"  161 

and  potatoes.  He  had  exhausted  his  stock 
of  maple  sugar,  but  he  produced  a  small 
wooden  keg  of  the  apparently  inexhaustible 
molasses. 

"  He  !  he!  he  !  Dat  jest  touches  de  spot, 
don't  it  ?"  he  chuckled,  when,  having  carefully 
served  each  member  of  the  party,  he  seated 
himself  about  three  feet  from  the  camp-fire, 
with  a  round  dozen  of  the  thin  cakes  for  his 
own  eating. 

He  coated  them  with  the  thick  molasses, 
and  set  the  keg  down  side  by  side  with  a  bag 
of  potatoes  which  had  been  brought  from  the 
settlement. 

There  these  provisions  remained  when, 
earlier  than  usual,  the  party  turned  in,  and 
stretched  their  tired  limbs  to  rest,  lying  down, 
as  they  had  done  before  when  sleeping  under 
canvas,  with  all  their  garments  on  save  coats 
and  moccasins.  Whether  Uncle  Eb  forgot 
his  "  m'lasses,"  or  whether  he  purposely  left 
it  without,  there  not  being  a  spare  inch  of 
room  in  the  small  tents,  no  one  then  or  after 
wards  inquired. 

As  a  result  of  the  jolly  intimacy  that  had 
sprung  up  between  the  two  companies  dur 
ing  the  few  days  when  they  had  all  things  in 
common,  the  boys  disposed  of  themselves  for 


1 62  Camp  and  Trail. 

the  night  as  they  pleased.  Neal  turned  in  with 
the  doctor,  Royal,  and  Joe,  the  four  stretch 
ing  themselves  on  the  evergreen  boughs,  with 
their  feet  to  the  opening  of  the  tent,  and 
their  rifles  and  ammunition  within  reach.  Of 
course  the  Winchesters  were  empty,  it  being  a 
strict  rule  that  firearms  should  not  be  brought 
into  camp  loaded. 

The  younger  Sinclairs,  with  Cyrus,  Dol, 
and  Uncle  Eb,  occupied  the  other  tent. 

It  seemed  to  Neal  that  he  had  hardly  slept 
one  hour,  —  probably  it  was  nearer  to  three, — 
during  which  time  he  had  been  dreaming  with 
vague  foreshadowings  of  the  final  and  crown 
ing  sport  of  the  trip,  the  grand  moose-stalk 
ing,  and  of  Herb  Heal,  the  mighty  hunter, 
when  he  was  awakened  by  a  shrill  scream  just 
outside  the  canvas.  He  started,  with  his  heart 
going  whackety- whack.  The  cry  was  sudden 
and  intensely  startling,  appearing  twice  as  loud 
as  it  really  was  when  it  broke  the  pathetic 
stillness  of  the  brulee,  where  not  a  tree  rustled 
or  twig  snapped,  and  the  night  wind  only 
sighed  faintly  and  fitfully  through  the  newly 
springing  growth. 

Again  sounded  that  startling  screech ;  and 
yet  again,  making  a  dreary,  piercing  din. 

"  By  all  that's  funny !    it's  another  coon," 


"Go  it,  Old  Bruin!"  163 

gasped  Neal ;  and  he  gently  pinched  the 
shoulder  of  Joe,  who  lay  on  his  left. 

"  Joe!"  he  whispered.  "Wake  up!  There's 
a  raccoon  just  outside  the  tent.  I  heard  his 
cry." 

The  guide  was  awake  and  alert  in  an  in 
stant.  So,  too,  was  Dr.  Phil. 

"  What's  up,  boys  ? "  asked  the  latter,  hear 
ing  a  murmur. 

"  There's  a  coon  close  by,"  said  Neal  again. 
"  Listen  to  him  !  " 

Even  while  he  spoke,  young  Farrar  caught 
sight  of  two  feathered  things  hopping  along 
the  avenue  of  light  which  lay  between  him 
and  the  camp-fire,  the  red  flare  of  the  flames 
mingling  with  the  white  radiance  of  a  cloud 
less  moon.  At  the  same  time  the  screech 
sounded  and  resounded. 

"  Coon  !  "  exclaimed  Joe  derisively.  "That's 
no  coon.  It's  only  a  little  owl.  Bless  ye ! 
I've  had  five  or  six  of  'em  come  right  into 
this  tent  of  a  night,  and  ding  away  at  me  till 
I  had  to  talk  to  'em  with  the  rifle  to  scare  'em 
off.  I'll  give  'em  a  dose  o'  lead  now  if  they 
don't  scoot  mighty  quick ;  that'll  stop  their 
song  an'  dance." 

"  Their  cry  is  pretty  much  like  a  raccoon's, 
Neal,"  said  Doc.  "  Only  it's  a  great  deal 


164  Camp  and  Trail. 

weaker.  Lie  down,  boy.  Go  to  sleep,  and 
don't  mind  them." 

The  owls  perhaps  apprehended  danger.  At 
all  events,  they  were  silent  for  a  while  ;  and  in 
three  minutes  each  occupant  of  the  tent  was 
fast  asleep  again,  with  the  exception  of  Neal. 
The  sharp  awakening  had  upset  his  nerves  a 
bit.  He  obeyed  the  doctor,  and  hugged  his 
blankets  round  him,  hoping  sleep  would  re 
turn  ;  but  he  lay  with  eyes  narrowed  into  two 
slits,  peeping  at  the  ruddy  camp-fire,  involun 
tarily  listening  for  the  screeching  of  the  birds, 
and  wishing  that  he  had  not  been  such  a 
greenhorn  as  to  disturb  his  comrades  for 
nothing.  Royal,  who  lay  on  his  right,  was 
of  a  less  excitable  temperament.  Although 
he  had  been  awakened,  he  was  now  snor 
ing  lustily,  insomnia  being  a  rare  affliction  in 
camps. 

"What's  that?" 

About  half  an  hour  had  passed  when  Neal 
Farrar  suddenly  and  sharply  rapped  out  these 
words  close  to  Joe's  ear.  He  felt  certain  that 
he  would  not  now  bring  upon  him  the  woods 
man's  good-natured  scorn  for  making  a  dis 
turbance  about  nothing.  A  heavy,  stealthy 
tread,  as  of  some  big  animal,  was  crushing 
the  pygmy  bushes  near  the  tent.  Immedi- 


"Go  it,  Old  Bruin!"  165 

ately  afterwards  he  saw  an  uncouth  black 
shape  in  the  lane  of  light  between  himself 
and  the  fire.  It  disappeared  while  his  heart 
was  giving  one  jump,  and  he  heard  a  dull, 
mumbling  noise,  such  as  a  pig  might  make 
when  rooting  amid  rubbish,  varied  with  an 
occasional  low  growl. 

Joe  was  already  awake.  His  hunter's  in 
stinct  told  him  that  something  truly  exciting 
was  on  now. 

"My  cracky!  I  b'lieve  it's  a  bear!"  he 
muttered,  forming  his  words  away  down  in 
his  throat,  so  that  Neal  only  caught  the  last 
one.  "  Keep  still  as  death !  " 

The  guide  reached  out  a  long  arm,  and 
clutched  his  rifle.  Hurriedly  he  jammed  half 
a  dozen  cartridges  into  its  magazine.  Then 
lightly  and  silently,  as  if  he  was  made  of  cork, 
he  got  upon  his  feet,  and  bounded  out  of  the 
tent,  Neal  copying  his  actions  nimbly  and 
noiselessly  as  he  could ;  though,  in  his  excite 
ment,  he  only  succeeded  in  getting  two  cart 
ridges  into  his  Winchester. 

Royal's  snoring  ceased.  Doc's  eager  ques 
tion,  "  What's  up  now,  boys?"  reached  the 
two  just  as  they  quitted  shelter,  and  passed 
into  the  broad  moonlight,  crossed  with  red 
gleams  from  their  fire. 


1 66  Camp  and  Trail. 

"A  bear!"  yelled  Joe  in  answer,  his  rifle 
and  he  breaking  silence  together. 

Three  times  the  Winchester  sharply  cracked. 

Then  with  a  mad  "  Halloo !  "  the  guide 
seized  a  flaming  stick  from  the  fire,  and, 
swinging  it  above  his  head,  started  after  the 
big  black  animal  of  which  Neal  had  caught  a 
glimpse  before.  He  now  saw  it  plainly  as, 
already  fifty  yards  ahead,  it  made  off  at  a 
plunging  gallop  across  the  moonlit  brul'ee. 

Young  Farrar  had  been  the  champion  run 
ner  of  his  school,  and  he  blessed  his  trained 
legs  for  giving  him  a  prominent  part  in  the 
wild  chase  that  followed.  Still  imitating  the 
woodsman,  he  pulled  another  half-lighted  stick 
from  the  camp-fire,  and  waved  it  in  a  frenzy 
of  excitement,  while  he  ran  like  a  buck  at 
Joe's  side. 

" Tumble  out!  Tumble  out,  boys!  A 
bear  !  A  bear ! "  now  rang  from  one  tent 
to  another. 

In  two  minutes  every  camper,  in  his  stock 
ing  feet,  just  as  he  had  risen  from  his  bed, 
was  tearing  across  the  brul'ee  in  the  wake  of 
Bruin,  yelling,  leaping,  and  swinging  smoul 
dering  firebrands. 

It  was  a  scene  and  a  chase  such  as  the  boys, 
in  their  most  far-fetched  dreams,  had  never 


"Go  it,  Old  Bruin!"  167 

pictured,  —  the  white  moonlight  glimmering 
on  the  black  stumps  and  tottering  trunks  of 
the  ruined  tract,  the  hunted  bear  plunging  off 
among  them,  frightened  by  the  shouting  and 
the  lights,  the  heavy,  lumbering  gallop  ena 
bling  it  at  first  to  distance  its  pursuers. 

Owing  to  their  fleetness  and  the  odds  they 
had  at  the  start,  the  guide  and  Neal  kept  far 
ahead  of  their  comrades.  The  noise  which 
Bruin  made  as  he  lumbered  over  the  pygmy 
growth,  and  the  charred,  rotting  timber  that 
littered  the  ground  beneath  it,  were  quiet 
enough  to  guide  Joe  unerringly  in  the  bear's 
wake,  even  when  that  bulky  shape  was  not 
distinguishable. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  screeched  the  woodsman 
suddenly,  as  he  stumbled  upon  something  at 
his  feet.  "  By  gracious  !  it's  our  keg  of  m'las- 
ses.  He  made  off  with  that,  and  has  dropped 
it  out  o'  sheer  fright,  or  because  he's  weaken 
ing.  I  know  I  hit  him  twice  when  I  fired  ;  but 
he's  not  hurt  too  badly  to  run,  or  to  fight  like 
a  fiend  if  we  come  to  close  quarters.  Like  as 
not  'twill  be  a  narrow  squeak  with  us  if  we 
tackle  him.  If  you're  scared  a  little  bit,  Neal, 
let  up,  an'  I'll  finish  him  alone." 

"  Scared  !  "  Neal  flung  the  word  back  with 
scorn,  as  if  he  was  returning  a  blow. 


1 68  Camp  and  Trail. 

For  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  bring  out 
another  syllable,  going  at  a  faster  rate  than 
ever  he  had  done  in  the  most  stubbornly  con 
tested  handicap.  The  strong-winded  guide 
rapped  out  his  sentences  as  he  ran,  appar 
ently  without  waste  of  breath. 

The  feverish  enthusiasm  of  the  hunter, 
which  he  had  never  felt  before,  was  now 
alive  in  Neal.  His  blood  raced  through  his 
veins  like  liquid  fire.  He  had  been  long 
enough  in  Maine  to  know  that  in  wreaking 
vengeance  on  Bruin  for  many  misdeeds  he 
would  be  acting  in  the  interests  of  justice. 
For  the  black  bear  is  still  such  a  master  pest 
to  the  settlers  who  are  trying  to  establish 
their  farms  amid  the  forests  where  it  roams, 
that  the  State  has  outlawed  the  beast,  and 
pays  a  bounty  for  its  skin. 

Joe  thought  little  about  this ;  for  a  gentle 
man  whom  he  had  guided  early  in  the  sum 
mer  had  lately  written  to  him,  offering  a  price 
of  fifteen  dollars  for  a  good  bearskin. 

Here  was  the  woodsman's  golden  opportu 
nity  —  an  opportunity  for  which  he  had  been 
thirsting  since  the  receipt  of  that  letter. 

He  already  regarded  his  triumph  over  the 
bear  as  secure,  and  its  hide  as  forfeited.  He 
nearly  caused  Neal  Farrar  to  burst  a  blood- 


Go  IT,  OLD  BRUIN!  Go  IT  WHILE  You  CAN!" 


"Go  it,  Old  Bruin!"  169 

vessel  from  the  combined  effects  of  strug 
gling  laughter  and  running,  when  he  began 
to  apostrophize  the  flying  foe  with  grim 
humor,  thus  :  — 

"  Go  it,  old  Bruin  !  Go  it  while  ye  can ! 
There  ain't  a  hair  on  yer  back  that  b'longs  to 
ye ! " 

But  it  soon  became  evident  that  the  bear 
couldn't  go  on  much  longer  at  this  breakneck 
pace.  Its  pursuers  heard  its  steps  with  in 
creasing  distinctness,  and  then  its  labored 
breathing.  They  were  gaining  on  it  fast. 

The  brute  came  into  full  view  about  forty 
yards  ahead,  as  it  ascended  a  slight  elevation, 
crowned  with  blasted  tree  trunks. 

"  I'll  draw  bead  on  him  from  here,"  said 
Joe,  stopping  short.  "  Get  ready  to  fire,  lad, 
if  he  turns.  It'll  take  lots  o'  lead  to  finish 
that  fellow." 

Twice  Joe's  rifle  spoke  again.  One  shot 
took  effect.  There  was  a  fearful  growl  from 
the  beast,  but  it  was  not  yet  mortally  wounded. 

Maddened  and  desperate,  it  wheeled  about, 
and  came  straight  for  its  pursuers.  Again 
the  guide  fired.  Still  the  bear  advanced, 
gnashing  its  teeth  and  mumbling  horribly  ; 
Neal  saw  its  black  shape  not  thirty  yards  from 
him. 


170  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Shoot !  shoot,  boy  ! "  screamed  Joe.  "  Or 
give  me  your  rifle.  I  haven't  got  a  charge 
left!" 

For  half  a  minute  Farrar  shook  all  over  as 
with  ague.  His  nostrils  felt  choked.  His 
mouth  was  wide  open  in  his  efforts  to  breathe. 
His  heart  pounded  like  a  sledge-hammer. 
With  that  mumbling  brute  advancing  upon 
him,  he  felt  as  if  he  couldn't  fire  so  as  to  hit 
a  haystack  or  a  flock  of  hens  at  a  barn-door. 

Then,  suddenly,  he  was  cool  again,  seeing 
and  hearing  with  extraordinary  clearness.  The 
ignominious  alternative  of  giving  his  rifle  to 
Joe  produced  a  revulsion.  His  fingers  were 
on  the  trigger,  his  left  hand  firmly  gripped 
the  barrel  of  his  Winchester ;  he  brought  it 
to  his  shoulder. 

"Aim  low !  Try  to  hit  him  in  the  front  of 
the  neck  where  it  joins  the  body,"  said  Joe, 
in  tones  sharp  as  a  razor,  which  cut  his  mean 
ing  into  Neal's  brain. 

Bruin  was  only  fifteen  yards  away  when 
Farrar's  rifle  cracked  once — twice  —  sending 
out  its  messengers  of  death. 

o 

There  was  a  last  terrible  growl,  a  plunge, 
and  a  thud  which  seemed  to  shake  the  ground 
under  Neal's  feet.  As  the  smoke  of  his  shots 
cleared  away,  Joe  beheld  him  leaning  on  his 


"Go  it,  Old  Bruin!"  171 

rifle,  with  a  face  which  in  the  moonlight 
looked  white  as  chalk,  and  the  bear  lying 
where  it  had  fallen  headlong  towards  him. 
It  made  a  desperate  struggle  to  regain  its 
feet,  then  rolled  on  its  side,  dead. 

One  bullet  had  pierced  the  spot  which  Joe 
mentioned,  and  had  passed  through  the  re 
gion  of  the  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE    SKIN    IS    YOURS." 


A  REGULAR  war-dance  was  performed 
about  the  slain  marauder  by  the  young 
Sinclairs  and  Dol  Farrar,  when  these  laggards 
in  the  chase  reached  the  spot  where  he  fell. 
The  firebrands  had  all  died  out  before  the 
enemy  turned ;  but  in  the  white  moon-radi 
ance  the  bear  was  seen  to  be  a  big  one,  with 
an  uncommonly  fine  skin. 

Neal  took  no  part  in  the  triumphal  capers. 
He  still  leaned  upon  his  rifle,  his  breath  com 
ing  in  gusty  puffs  through  his  nostrils  and 
mouth.  Not  alone  the  desperate  sensations 
of  those  moments  when  he  had  faced  the 
gnashing,  mumbling  brute,  but  the  unex 
pected  success  of  his  first  shot  at  big  game, 

172 


"The  Skin  is  Yours.  173 

had  unhinged  him.  By  his  endurance  in  the 
chase,  by  the  pluck  with  which  he  stood  up  to 
the  bear,  above  all,  by  his  being  able,  as  Joe 
phrased  it,  to  "  take  a  sure  pull  on  the  beast 
at  a  paralyzing  moment,"  he  had  eternally 
justified  his  right  to  the  title  of  sportsman 
in  the  eyes  of  the  natives.  The  guides,  Joe 
and  Eb,  were  not  slow  in  telling  him  that  he 
had  behaved  from  start  to  finish  like  no 
"  greenhorn,"  but  a  regular  "  old  sport." 

"  My  cracky !  'twas  lucky  for  me  that  you 
had  game  blood  in  you,  which  showed  up," 
exclaimed  Joe,  catching  the  boy's  arm  in  a 
friendly  grip,  with  an  odd  respect  in  his 
touch,  which  marked  the  admission  of  young 
Farrar  into  the  brotherhood  of  hunters.  "  I 
hadn't  a  charge  left,  an'  not  even  my  hunting- 
knife.  Lots  o'  city  swells  'u'd  have  been 
plumb  scared  before  a  growler  like  that,"  — 
touching  Bruin's  carcass  with  his  foot,  — 
"even  if  they  had  a  small  arsenal  to  back 
'em  up.  They'd  have  dropped  rifle  and  car 
tridges,  and  hugged  the  nearest  trunk.  I've 
seen  fellers  do  it  scores  o'  times,  bless  ye! 
after  they  came  out  here  rigged  up  in  sport 
ing-book  style,  talking  fire  about  hunting 
bears  and  moose.  But  that  was  all  the  fire 
there  was  to  'em." 


174  Camp  and  Trail. 

Yet  Neal's  triumph  over  the  poor  brute, 
which  had  raced  well  for  its  life,  was  not 
without  a  faint  twinge  of  pain  ;  and  he  was 
too  manly  to  look  on  this  as  a  weakness.  A 
sportsman  he  might  be,  of  the  sort  who  can 
shoot  straight  when  necessity  demands  it,  but 
never  of  that  class  who  prowl  through  the 
forests  with  fingers  tingling  to  pull  the  trig 
ger,  dreading  to  lose  a  chance  of  "  letting 
blood "  from  any  slim-legged  moose  or  vel 
vet-nosed  buck  which  may  run  their  way.  It 
needed  Doc's  praise  to  make  him  feel  fully 
satisfied  with  his  deed. 

"It  was  a  crack  shot,  boy,"  said  the  doctor 
proudly.  "  And  I  guess  the  farmer  at  the 
next  settlement  will  feel  like  giving  you  a 
medal  for  it.  Old  Bruin  has  only  got  what 
he  gave  to  every  creature  he  could  master." 

There  being  no  tree  conveniently  near  to 
which  they  could  string  up  the  dead  bear, 
the  guides  decided  to  leave  the  ugly  matter 
of  skinning  and  dissecting  him  for  morning 
light.  The  excited  party  returned  to  camp, 
but  not  to  sleep.  They  built  up  their  scat 
tered  fire,  squatted  round  it,  and  discoursed 
of  the  night's  adventure  until  a  clear  dawn- 
gleam  brightened  the  eastern  sky.  Then 
Uncle  Eb  and  Joe  started  out  again  across 


"The  Skin  is  Yours"  175 

the  brul'ee.  They  reappeared  before  break 
fast-time,  bringing  Bruin's  skin  and  a  goodly 
portion  of  his  meat. 

Joe  laid  the  hide  at  Neal's  feet. 

"There,  boy,"  he  said,  "the  skin  is  yours. 
It  belongs  rightly  to  the  man  who  killed  the 
bear;  and  I  guess  the  brute  wasn't  mortally 
hurt  at  all  till  your  bullet  nipped  him  in  the 
neck." 

"  But  what  about  the  fifteen  dollars  from 
that  New  York  man,  Joe  ?  You'll  lose  it," 
faltered  young  Farrar,  with  a  triumphant 
heart-leap  at  the  thought  of  taking  this  tro 
phy  back  to  England,  but  loath  to  profit  by 
the  woodsman's  generosity. 

"  Don't  you  bother  about  that  ;  let  it  go," 
answered  Joe,  whose  business  of  guiding  was 
profitable  enough  for  him.  "  Tain't  enough 
for  the  skin,  anyhow.  Nary  a  finer  one  has 
been  taken  out  o'  Maine  in  the  last  five 
years  ;  and  mighty  lucky  you  Britishers  were 
to  git  a  chance  of  a  bear-hunt  at  all.  Old 
Bruin  must  have  been  powerful  hungry  to 
come  around  our  camp." 

There  was  a  grand  breakfast  before  the 
travellers  broke  camp  that  morning.  The 
guides  and  Doc  —  who  had  got  accustomed 
to  the  luxury  during  visits  to  settlers  and  lum- 


176  Camp  and  Trail. 

ber-camps  —  feasted  off  bear-steaks.  Cyrus 
and  the  boys,  American  and  English,  declined 
to  touch  it.  The  whole  appearance  of  Bruin 
as  he  lay  stretched  on  the  ground  the  night 
before  made  their  ''department  of  the  inte 
rior"  revolt  against  it. 

When  a  start  was  made  for  the  settlement, 
Joe  bundled  up  the  skin,  and,  as  a  tribute  of 
respect  to  Neal's  "  game  blood,"  carried  it,  in 
addition  to  his  heavy  pack,  for  a  distance  of 
four  miles  over  the  desolate  brulee  and  across 
a  soft,  miry  bog.  On  reaching  the  farm 
clearing,  he  cut  the  stem  of  a  tall  cedar 
bush,  which  he  bent  into  the  shape  of  a 
hoop,  binding  the  ends  together  with  cedar 
bark.  He  then  pricked  holes  all  around  the 
edges  of  the  hide  with  the  sharp  point  of  his 
hunting-knife,  stretched  it  to  its  full  extent, 
and  fastened  it  to  the  hoop,  which  he  hung 
up  to  a  tree  near  the  settler's  cabin,  telling 
Neal  that  in  a  few  clays  it  would  be  dry 
enough  to  pack  away  in  a  bag. 

But  as  it  was  a  cumbersome  article  to  carry 
while  tramping  a  dozen  miles  farther  to  the 
camp  on  Millinokett  Lake,  the  farmer  offered 
to  take  charge  of  it  for  its  owner  until  he 
passed  that  way  again  on  his  return  journey  ; 
an  offer  which  Neal  thankfully  accepted.  The 


"The  Skin  is  Yours."  177 

old  backwoodsman  was,  truth  to  tell,  delighted 
to  see  hanging  up  near  his  cabin  door  the 
skin  of  an  enemy  who  had  ofttimes  plundered 
him  so  unmercifully. 

He  made  the  travellers  royally  welcome, 
let  them  have  the  roomy  kitchen  of  his  log 
shanty  to  sleep  in,  with  a  soft  bed  of  hay. 
Here  he  lay  with  them,  while  his  wife  and 
sickly  little  girl  occupied  an  adjoining  space 
about  twelve  feet  square,  which  had  been 
boarded  off.  This  was  all  the  accommoda 
tion  the  log  home  arTo/ded. 

The  forest  child  was  a  puzzle  to  the  lads. 
To  them  she  looked  as  if  the  soul  of  a  grand 
mother  had  taken  possession  of  a  thin,  long- 
limbed  body  which  ought  to  belong  to  a  girl 
of  ten.  Her  pinched  features  and  over-wise 
eyes  told  a  tale  of  suffering,  and  so  did  her 
high-pitched,  quivering  voice,  as  it  made  elf- 
ishly  sharp  remarks  about  the  boys  until  they 
blenched  before  her. 

This  was  the  little  one  of  whom  the  doctor 
had  said  "  that  she  fretted  if  he  did  not  come 
to  see  her  once  in  a  while."  And  with  Doc 
she  was  a  different  being.  Her  voice  soft 
ened,  her  eyes  became  childlike,  and  thin 
tinkles  of  laughter  broke  from  her  as  she 
clung  to  him,  and  received  certain  presents 


178  Camp  and  Trail. 

of  medicines  and  picture-books  which  he  had 
brought  for  her  in  a  corner  of  his  knapsack. 

For  two  nights  the  travellers  slept  in  a  row 
on  their  hay  bed ;  for  two  long-remembered 
days  the  five  boys  roamed  the  country  round 
the  clearing,  starting  deer,  catching  glimpses 
of  a  wildcat,  a  marten  or  two,  and  of  another 
coon.  Then  came,  to  use  Dol's  expression, 
"  the  beastly  nuisance  of  saying  good-by." 

Dr.  Phil  was  obliged  to  return  to  Green 
ville  ;  and  he  declared  that  now  he  must  surely 
start  his  nephews  rtomeward,  for  Royal  ex 
pected  to  graduate  from  the  High  School 
during  the  following  year,  and  to  let  him 
waste  more  time  from  study  would  be  ques 
tionable  kindness.  Joe  Flint  of  course  would 
go  back  with  his  party.  And  here  Cyrus 
paid  Uncle  Eb's  fees  for  guiding,  and  dis 
missed  him  too. 

Only  a  dozen  miles  of  tolerably  easy  travel 
ling  now  separated  Garst  and  his  English 
comrades  from  the  camp  on  Millinokett  Lake, 
where  they  were  to  meet  the  redoubtable 
Herb  Heal.  The  settler,  knowing  this  tract 
of  country  as  thoroughly  as  he  knew  his  own 
few  fields,  offered  to  lead  our  trio  for  the  first 
half  of  their  onward  march  ;  and  as  they  could 
follow  a  plain  trail  for  the  remainder  of  the 


"The  Skin  is    Yours"'  179 

way,  they  had  no  further  need  of  their  guide's 
services.  They  promised  to  visit  Eb  at  his 
bark  hut  on  their  return  journey,  to  bid  him  a 
final  farewell,  and  hear  one  more  stave  of:  — 

"  Ketch  him,  Tiger,  ketch  him  !  " 

"  Good-by,  you  lucky  fellows !  "  said  Royal 
Sinclair  huskily,  as  he  gripped  Neal's  hand, 
then  Dol's,  in  a  brotherly  squeeze  when  the 
hour  of  parting  came.  "  I  wish  I  was  going 
on  with  you.  We've  had  a  stunning  good 
time  together,  haven't  we  ?  And  we'll  run 
across  each  other  in  these  woods  some  time 
or  other  again,  I  know  !  You'll  never  feel 
satisfied  to  stay  in  England,  where  there's 
nothing  to  hunt  but  hares  and  foxes,  after 
chasing  bears  and  moose." 

"  Oh  !  we'll  come  out  here  again,  depend 
upon  it,"  answered  Neal.  "  Drop  me  a  line 
occasionally,  won't  you,  Roy?  Here's  our 
Manchester  address." 

"  I  will,  if  you'lLdo  the  same." 
"  Agreed.     Good-by  again,  old  fellow  !  " 
"  I've  got  the   slip  of  birch-bark  and   the 
horn   safe  in  my  knapsack,  Doc,"   Dol  was 
saying   meanwhile,  feeling  his   eyes  getting 
leaky  as  he  bade  farewell  to  the  doctor.     "  I 
—  I'll  keep  them  as  long  as  I  live." 


180  Camp  and  Trail. 

Doctor  Phil  had  been  as  good  as  his  word. 
He  had  made  Joe  rip  the  slip  of  white  bark, 
with  the  rude  writing  on  it,  off  the  pine-tree 
near  the  swamp,  and  had  presented  it  to  Dol 
ere  the  boy  quitted  his  camp. 

"  Well,  confusion  to  partings  anyhow !  " 
broke  in  Joe.  "  Don't  like  'em  a  bit.  Hope 
you'll  get  that  bear-skin  safe  to  England, 
Neal.  When  you  show  it  to  your  folks  at 
home,  tell  'em  Joe  Flint  said  he  knew  one 
Britisher  who  would  make  a  woodsman  if  he 
got  a  chance.  Don't  you  forgit  it." 

"  Good-by,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  clasped 
in  turn  the  hands  of  the  departing  three. 
"  Good  luck  to  you,  boys  !  Keep  your  souls 
as  straight  as  your  bodies,  and  you'll  be  a  trio 
worth  knowing.  We'll  meet  again  some  day  ; 
I'm  sure  of  it. " 

Martin  and  Will  were  chirping  farewells, 
and  lamenting  that  they  would  have  no  more 
chances  of  studying  water-snakes  in  sedgy 
pools  with  Dol.  Amid  cheers  and  waving  of 
hats  the  campers  separated. 

"  Forward,  Company  Three  !  "  cried  Cyrus 
encouragingly,  stepping  briskly  ahead,  his 
comrades  following.  "  Now  for  a  sight  of  the 
'  Jabberwock '  of  the  forest,  the  mighty  moose. 
Hurrah  for  the  wild  woods  and  all  woodsmen ! " 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A   LUCKY    HUNTER. 

AMID  cracking  of  jokes,  and  noise  which 
would  have  disgraced  a  squad  of  In 
dians,  "  Company  Three,"  as  Cyrus  dubbed 
his  reduced  band,  reached  the  crowning-point 
of  their  journey,  the  log  camp  on  the  shore 
of  Millinokett  Lake. 

During  the  first  half-dozen  miles  of  the 
way,  though  each  one  manfully  did  his  best 
to  be  lively,  a  sense  of  loss  made  their  fun 
flat  and  pointless.  Royal's  tear-away  tongue, 
his  brothers'  racket,  Joe's  racy  talk,  Uncle 
Eb's  kind,  dark  face,  and  more  than  all,  Doc's 
companionship,  which  was  as  tonic  to  the 
hearts  of  those  who  travelled  with  him,  were 
missed. 

181 


1 82  Camp  and  Trail. 

But  spirits  must  be  elastic  in  forest  air. 
When  they  halted  at  noon  to  eat  their 
"  snack  "  on  the  side  of  a  breezy  knoll,  with 
a  tiny  brook  purling  through  a  pine  grove 
beneath  them,  with  Katahdin's  rugged  sides 
and  cloud-veiled  peaks  looming  in  majesty  to 
the  north,  the  thought  of  what  lay  behind  was 
inevitably  lost  in  what  lay  before.  Enthusi 
asm  replaced  depression. 

"  It's  no  use  grizzling  because  we  can't 
have  those  fellows  with  us  all  the  time,"  re 
marked  Neal  philosophically.  "  Twas  a  big 
piece  of  luck  our  running  against  them  at  all. 
And  I've  a  sort  of  feeling  that  this  won't  be 
the  end  of  it ;  we'll  come  across  them  again 
some  day  or  other." 

"  And  at  all  events  we'll  probably  get  a 
sight  of  Doc  at  Greenville  as  we  go  back," 
said  Dol,  to  whom  this  was  no  small  com 
fort. 

"  Well,  needless  to  say,  I'd  have  been  glad 
of  their  company  for  the  rest  of  the  trip.  But 
still,  if  they  had  taken  a  notion  to  come  on 
with  us,  it  would  have  reduced  to  nothing 
our  chances  of  seeing  a  moose.  We're  a  big 
party  already  for  moose-calling  or  stalking  — 
three  of  us,  with  Herb  ;  "  this  from  Cyrus. 

"  Now,  fellows,  don't  you  think  we'd  better 


A  Lucky  Hunter.  183 

get  a  move  on  us  ? "  added  the  leader. 
"  We've  half  a  dozen  miles  to  do  yet ;  but  the 
trail  begins  right  here,  and  is  clearly  blazed 
all  the  way  to  our  camp.  Let's  keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip,  and  the  journey  will  soon  be  over." 

It  was  very  delightful  to  sit  there  in  the 
crisp  October  air,  with  the  brook  seemingly 
humming  tender  legends  of  the  woods,  which 
witless  men  could  not  translate,  with  an  un 
certain  breeze  playing  through  the  newly  fal 
len  maple-leaves,  now  turning  them  one  by 
one  in  lazy  curiosity,  then  of  a  sudden  making 
them  caper  and  swirl  in  a  scarlet  merry-go- 
round.  Still,  the  young  Farrars  were  not 
loath  to  move  on.  Now  that  they  were  near- 
ing  the  climax  of  their  journey,  their  minds 
were  full  of  Herb  Heal.  Their  longing  to 
meet  this  lucky  hunter  grew  with  each  mile 
which  drew  them  nearer  to  him. 

They  pressed  hard  after  their  leader,  look 
ing  neither  right  nor  left,  while  he  carefully 
followed  the  trail ;  and  one  hour's  tramping 
brought  them  to  the  shores  of  Millinokett 
Lake. 

Here,  despite  their  eagerness  to  reach  their 
new  camp,  they  were  forced  to  stop  and  ad 
mire  the  great  sheet  of  forest-bound  water, 
smiling  back  the  sky  in  tints  of  turquoise  and 


184  Camp  and  Trail. 

pearl,  dotted  with  apparently  countless  islets, 
like  specks  upon  the  face  of  a  mirror. 

The  irregular  shores  of  the  lake  were  bro 
ken  by  "  logons,"  narrow  little  bays  curving 
into  the  land,  shining  arms  of  water,  some 
times  bordered  by  evergreens,  sometimes  by 
graceful  poplars  and  birches.  From  the  op 
posite  bank  the  woods  stretched  away  in  un 
dulating  waves  of  ridge  and  valley  to  the  foot 
of  Mount  Katahdin,  which  still  showed  grandly 
to  the  northward. 

"  Millinokett  Lake,"  said  Cyrus,  prolonging 
the  syllables  with  a  soft,  liquid  sound.  "  It's 
an  Indian  name,  boys  ;  it  signifies  *  Lake  of 
Islands.'  Whatever  else  the  red  men  can 
boast  of,  the  music  of  their  names  is  un 
equalled.  I  don't  know  exactly  how  many  of 
those  islets  there  are,  but  I  believe  Millino 
kett  has  over  two  hundred  of  them  anyhow. 
Our  camp  is  on  the  western  shore.  Shall  we 
be  moving  ?  " 

o 

After  skirting  the  water  for  another  mile  or 
two,  the  travellers  reached  a  broad,  open 
tract,  bare  of  timber.  At  the  farther  end  of 
this  clearing  were  two  log  cabins,  low,  but 
very  roomy,  situated  at  a  distance  of  a  few 
hundred  yards  from  the  lake,  with  a  back 
ground  of  splendid  firs  and  spruces,  the  lively 


A  Liicky  Hunter.  185 

green  of  the  latter  making  the  former  look 
black  in  contrast. 

"  Is  that  our  camp?  How  perfectly  glori 
ous  !  "  boomed  Neal  and  Dol  together. 

"  It's  our  camp,  sure  enough,"  answered 
Garst,  with  no  less  enthusiasm.  "  At  least 
the  first  cabin  will  be  ours.  I  don't  know 
whether  there  are  any  hunters  in  the  other 
one  just  now." 

The  log  shanties  had  been  put  up  by  an 
enterprising  settler  to  accommodate  sports 
men  who  might  penetrate  to  this  far  part  of  the 
wilds  in  search  of  moose  or  caribou.  Cyrus 
had  arranged  for  the  use  of  one  during  the 
months  of  October  and  November.  Here  it 
was  that  Herb  Heal  had  engaged  to  await 
him.  And  as  he  had  commissioned  this  fa 
mous  guide  to  stock  the  camp  with  all  such 
provisions  as  could  be  procured  from  neigh 
boring  settlements,  such  as  flour,  potatoes, 
pork,  etc.,  he  expected  to  slide  into  the  lap 
of  luxury. 

In  one  sense  he  did.  When  the  trio,  their 
hearts  thumping  with  anticipation,  reached 
the  low  door  of  the  first  cabin,  they  found  it 
securely  fastened  on  the  outside,  so  that  no 
burglar-beast  could  force  an  entrance,  but 
easily  opened  by  man.  Cyrus  hurriedly  un- 


1 86  Camp  and  Trail. 

did  the  bolts,  and  stepped  under  the  log 
roof,  followed  by  his  comrades.  The  camp 
was  in  beautiful  order,  clean,  well-stocked, 
and  provided  with  primitive  comforts.  An 
enticing^-looking  bed  of  fresh  fir-boughs  was 
arranged  in  a  sort  of  rude  bunk  which  ex 
tended  along  one  side  of  the  cabin,  having  a 
head-board  and  foot-board.  The  latter  was 
fitted  to  form  a  bench  as  well.  A  man  might 
perch  on  it,  and  stretch  his  toes  to  the  fire 
in  the  great  stone  fireplace  only  two  feet 
distant. 

The  boys  could  well  imagine  that  this 
would  make  an  ideal  seat  for  a  hunter  at 
night,  where  he  might  lazily  fill  his  pipe  and 
tell  big  yarns,  while  the  winter  storm  howled 
outside,  and  snow-flurries  drifted  against  his 
log  walls.  But  they  looked  at  it  wistfully 
now,  for  it  was  empty.  There  was  no  figure 
of  a  moccasined  forest  hero  on  bench  or  in 
bunk.  There  was  no  Herb  Heal. 

"  Bless  the  fellow !  Where  on  earth  is 
he?"  Garst  exclaimed.  "  He's  been  here,  you 
see,  and  has  the  camp  provisioned  and  ready. 
Perhaps  he's  only  prowling  about  in  the 
woods  near.  I'll  give  him  a  '  Coo-hoo  !  ' 

He  stepped  forth  from  the  cabin  to  the 
middle  of  the  clearing,  and  sent  his  voice 


"  HERB  HEAL." 


A  Lucky  Hunter.  187 

ringing1  out  in  a  distance-piercing  hail.  He 
loaded  his  rifle  and  blazed  away  with  it,  firing 
a  volley  of  signal-shots. 

Neither  shout  nor  shots  brought  him  any 
answer. 

The  second  cabin  was  likewise  empty,  and, 
judging  from  the  withered  remains  of  a  bed, 
had  evidently  been  long  unused. 

"  Well,  fellows !  "  said  the  leader,  with 
manifest  chagrin,  "  we'll  only  have  to  fix  up 
something  to  eat,  make  ourselves  comfortable, 
and  wait  patiently  until  our  guide  puts  in  an 
appearance.  Herb  Heal  never  broke  an  en 
gagement  yet.  He's  as  faithful  a  fellow  as 
ever  made  camp  or  spotted  a  trail  in  these 
forests.  And  he  promised  to  wait  for  me 
here  from  the  first  of  October,  as  it  was 
uncertain  when  I  might  arrive.  I'm  mighty 
hungry.  Who'll  go  and  fetch  some  water 
from  the  lake  while  I  turn  cook?" 

Dol  volunteered  for  this  business,  and 
brought  a  kettle  from  the  cabin.  He  found 
it  near  the  hearth,  on  which  a  fire  still  flick 
ered,  side  by  side  with  a  frying-pan  and 
various  articles  of  tinware.  Cyrus  rolled  up 
his  sleeves,  took  the  canisters  of  tea  and 
coffee  with  other  small  stores  from  his  knap 
sack,  proceeded  to  mix  a  batter  for  flapjacks, 


1 88  Camp  and  Trail. 

and  showed  himself  to  be  a  genius  with  the 
pan. 

The  meal  was  soon  ready.  The  food 
might  be  a  little  salt  and  greasy ;  but  camp- 
hunger,  after  a  tramp  of  a  dozen  miles,  is  not 
dulled  by  such  trifles.  The  trio  ate  joyously, 
washing  the  fare  down  with  big  draughts  of 
tea,  rather  fussily  prepared  by  Neal,  which 
might  have  "  done  credit  to  many  a  Boston 
woman's  afternoon  tea-table "  —  so  young 
Garst  said. 

Yet  from  time  to  time  longing  looks  were 
cast  at  the  low  camp-door.  And  when  day 
light  waned,  when  stars  began  to  glint  in  a 
sky  which  was  a  mixture  of  soft  grays  and 
downy  whites  like  a  dove's  plumage,  when 
the  islets  on  Millinokett's  bosom  became 
black  dots  on  a  slate-gray  sheet,  and  no  laden 
hunter  with  rifle  and  game  put  in  an  appear 
ance,  even  Cyrus  became  fidgety  and  anx 
ious. 

"  I  hope  the  fellow  hasn't  come  to  grief 
somewhere  in  the  woods,"  he  said,  while  a 
shiver  of  apprehension  shot  clown  his  back. 
"  But  Herb  has  had  so  many  hairbreadth 
escapes  that  I  believe  the  animal  has  yet  to 
be  born  which  could  get  the  better  of  him. 
And  he  can  find  his  way  anywhere  without  a 


A  Lucky  Hunter.  189 

compass.  Every  handful  of  moss  on  a  trunk 
or  stone,  every  turn  of  a  woodland  stream, 
every  sun-ray  which  strikes  him  through  the 
trees,  every  glimpse  of  the  stars  at  night,  has 
a  meaning  for  him.  He  reads  the  forest  like 
a  book.  No  fear  of  his  getting  lost  anyhow. 
Come,  boys,  I  guess  we'd  better  build  up  our 
fire,  make  things  snug  for  the  night,  and  turn 


in." 


Rather  dejectedly  the  trio  set  about  these 
preparations.  In  twenty  minutes'  time  they 
were  stretched  side  by  side  in  the  wide  bunk, 
with  their  blankets  cuddled  round  them,  al 
ready  venting  random  snores. 

"  Hello !  So  you've  got  here  at  last,  have 
you  ? " 

The  exclamations  were  loud  and  snappy, 
and  awoke  the  sleeping  campers  like  the 
banging  of  rifle-shots.  With  jumping  pulses 
they  sprang  up,  feeling  a  wave  of  cold  air 
sweep  their  faces;  for  the  cabin-door,  which 
they  had  closed  ere  lying  down,  was  now 
ajar. 

The  camp  was  almost  in  darkness.  Only 
one  dull,  red  ray  stole  out  from  the  fire,  on 
which  fresh  logs  had  been  piled.  But  while 
the  young  Farrars  rubbed  their  sleep-dimmed 
eyes,  and  slowly  realized  that  the  woodsman 


190  Camp  and  Trail. 

whom  they  had  been  expecting  had  at  last 
arrived,  a  strangely  brilliant  illumination  lit 
up  the  log  walls. 

This  sudden  and  bewildering  light  showed 
them  the  figure  of  a  hunter  in  mud-spattered 
gray  trousers,  with  coarse  woollen  stockings 
of  lighter  hue  drawn  over  them  above  his 
buckskin  moccasins.  His  battered  felt  hat 
was  pushed  back  from  his  forehead,  a  guide's 
leathern  wallet  was  slung  round  him,  and 
the  rough,  clinging  jersey  he  wore,  being 
stretched  so  tightly  over  his  swelling  muscles 
that  its  yarn  could  not  hold  together,  had  a 
rent  on  one  shoulder. 

His  slate-gray  eyes  with  jetty  pupils,  which 
were  miniatures  of  Millinokett  Lake  at  this 
hour,  gazed  at  the  awakened  trio  in  the  bunk, 
with  a  gleam  of  light  shooting  athwart  them, 
like  a  moonbeam  crossing  the  face  of  the 
lake. 

The  hunter  held  in  his  hand  a  big  roll  of 
the  inflammable  paper-like  bark  of  the  white 
birch-tree,  which  he  had  brought  in  with  him 
to  kindle  his  fire,  expecting  that  it  had  gone 
out  during  his  absence.  Seeing  a  glow  still 
on  the  hearth,  and  feeling  instantly  that  the 
cabin  was  tenanted,  he  had  applied  a  match 
to  his  bark,  causing  the  vivid  flare  which  re- 


A  Lucky  Hunter.  191 

vealed    him  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  had 
longed  for  his  presence. 

"  Herb  Heal,  man,  is  it  you?  "  shouted  Cy 
rus,  his  voice  like  a  midnight  joy-chime,  as 
he  sprang  from  the  fir-boughs  and  gripped 
the  woodsman's  arm.  "  I'm  delighted  to 
see  you,  though  I  was  ready  to  swear  you 
wouldn't  disappoint  us  !  I  didn't  fasten  the 
cabin-door,  for  I  thought  you  might  possibly 
get  back  to  camp  during  the  night." 

"  Cyrus,  old  fellow,  how  goes  it  ? "  was 
Herb's  greeting.  "  I  had  a'most  given  up 
looking  for  you.  But  I'm  powerful  glad 
you've  got  here  at  last." 

The  hunter's  voice  had  still  the  quick  snap 
and  force  which  made  it  startling  as  a  rifle 
shot  when  he  entered  the  cabin. 

"  These  are  my  friends,  Neal  and  Adolphus 
Farrar,"  said  Cyrus,  introducing  the  blan 
keted  youths,  who  had  now  risen  to  their 
feet.  "  Boys,  this  is  Herb  Heal,  our  new 
guide,  christened  Herbert  Healy  —  isn't  that 
so,  Herb?" 

"  I  reckon  it  is-,"  answered  the  young  hun 
ter,  laughing.  "  But  no  woodsman  could 
spring  a  sugary,  city-sounding  name  like  that 
on  me.  I've  been  Herb  Heal  from  the  day 
I  could  handle  a  rifle." 


192  Camp  and  Trail. 

He  nodded  pleasantly  as  he  spoke  to  the 
strange  lads,  and  began  to  chat  with  them  in 
prompt  familiarity,  looking  straight  and  strong 
as  a  young  pine-tree  in  the  halo  of  his  birch 
torch.  Garst,  whose  inches  his  juniors  had 
hitherto  coveted,  was  but  a  stripling  beside 
Herb  Heal. 

"  Is  this  your  first  trip  into  Maine  woods, 
younkers  ? "  he  asked.  "  Well,  I  guess  you've 
come  to  the  right  place  for  sport.  I'm  sorry 
I  wasn't  on  hand  to  welcome  you  when  you 
arrived.  A  pretty  forest  guide  you  must  have 
thought  me.  But  I  guess  I'll  show  you  a 
sight  to-morrow  that'll  wipe  out  all  scores." 

There  was  such  triumph  in  the  hunter's  eye 
that  the  voices  of  the  trio  blended  into  one 
as  they  breathlessly  asked,  — 

"What  sight  is  it?" 

"  A  dead  king  o'  the  woods,  boys,"  an 
swered  Herb  Heal,  his  voice  vibrating.  "  A 
fine  young  bull-moose,  as  sure  as  this  is  a 
land  of  liberty.  I  dropped  him  by  a  logon 
on  the  east  bank  of  Fir  Pond,  about  four 
miles  from  here.  I  started  out  early,  hoping 
to  nab  a  deer;  for  I  had  no  fresh  meat  left, 
and  I  didn't  want  to  have  a  bare  larder  when 
you  fellows  came  along.  But  the  woods  were 
awful  still.  There  didn't  seem  to  be  anything 


A  Lucky  Hunter.  193 

bigger  than  a  field-mouse  travelling.  Then 
all  of  a  sudden  I  heard  a  tormented  grunting, 
and  the  moose  came  tearing  right  onto  me. 
I  was  to  leeward  of  him,  so  he  couldn't  get 
my  scent.  A  man's  gun  doesn't  take  long  to 
fly  into  position  at  such  times,  and  I  dropped 
him  with  two  shots.  There  he  lies  now  by 
the  water,  for  I  couldn't  get  him  back  to  camp 
till  morning.  He's  not  full-grown ;  but  he's  a 
fine  fellow  for  all  that,  and  has  a  dandy  pair 
of  antlers.  By  George  !  I'd  give  the  biggest 
guide's  fees  I  ever  got  if  you  fellows  had 
been  there  to  hear  him  striking  the  trees  with 
'em  as  he  tore  along.  He  was  a  buster. 

"  But  you'll  see  him  to-morrow  anyhow, 
and  have  a  taste  of  moose-meat  for  the  first 
time  in  your  lives,  I  guess." 

Here  Herb  waved  the  fag-end  of  his  bark 
roll,  threw  it  down  as  it  scorched  his  horny 
fingers,  and  stamped  upon  it. 

The  interior  of  the  log  cabin,  ere  it  was  ex 
tinguished,  was  a  scene  for  a  painter,  —  the 
lithe,  muscular  figure,  tanned  face,  and  gleam 
ing  eyes  of  the  lucky  hunter  shown  by  the 
flare  of  his  birch  torch,  and"  the  three  staring 
listeners,  with  blankets  draped  about  them, 
who  feared  to  miss  one  point  of  his  story. 

Cyrus  was  grinding  his  teeth  in  vexation 


194  Camp  and  Trail. 

that  he  had  narrowly  missed  seeing  the 
moose  alive.  The  two  Farrars  were  burning 
with  excitement  at  the  thought  of  beholdino- 

o  o 

the  monarch  of  the  forest  at  all,  even  in  death. 
For  they  had  heard  enough  wood-lore  to 
know  that  the  bull-moose,  with  his  extreme 
caution,  is  like  a  tantalizing  phantom  to  hunt 
ers.  Continually  he  lures  them  to  disap 
pointment  by  his  uncouth  noises,  or  by  a 
sight  of  his  freshly  made  tracks,  while  his 
sensitive  ears  and  super-sensitive  nose,  which 
can  discriminate  between  the  smell  of  man 
and  every  other  smell  on  earth,  will  generally 
lead  him  off  like  a  wind-gust  before  man 
gets  a  sight  of  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  keep  you  awake,  boys,"  said 
Herb  Heal,  making  for  the  fire,  after  he  had 
finished  his  story;  "but  I  haven't  had  a  bite 
since  morning,  and  I'm  that  hungry  I  could 
chaw  my  moccasins.  I'll  get  something  to 
eat,  and  then  we'll  turn  in.  We'll  have 
mighty  hard  work  to-morrow,  getting  the 
moose  to  camp." 

Herb  was  not  long  in  making  ready  the 
stereotyped  camp-fare  of  flapjacks  and  pork. 
To  light  his  preparations,  he  took  a  candle 
out  of  a  precious  bundle  which  he  had 
brought  from  a  town  a  hundred  miles  dis- 


A  Lucky  Hunter.  195 

tant,  and  set  it  in  a  primitive  candlestick. 
This  was  simply  a  long"  stick  of  white  spruce 
wood,  one  end  of  which  was  pointed,  and 
stuck  into  the  ground  ;  the  other  was  split, 
and  into  it  the  candle  was  inserted,  the  elas 
ticity  of  the  fresh  wood  keeping  the  light  in 
place. 

The  tired  hunter  did  not  dawdle  over  his 
supper.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  had  fin 
ished  it,  and  was  building  up  the  fire  again. 
Then  he  stretched  himself  beside  the  trio  in 
the  rude  bunk,  drawing  one  thin  blanket  over 
him.  Neal,  who  lay  on  his  right,  was  con 
scious  of  some  prickings  of  excitement  at 
having  such  a  bedfellow  on  the  fir-boughs, 

o  o 

—  the  camper's  couch  which  levels  all.  There 
flashed  upon  the  fair-haired  English  boy  a 
remembrance  of  how  Cyrus  had  once  said 
that  "  in  the  woods  manhood  is  the  only 
passport."  He  thought  that,  measured  by 
this  standard,  Herb  Heal  had  truly  a  royal 
charter,  and  might  be  a  president  of  the 
forest  land ;  for  he  looked  as  free,  strong, 
and  unconquerable  as  the  forest  wind. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


A    FALLEN    KING. 

'T'HE  hunter  was  the  only  one  who  slept 
soundly  that  night  on  the  fragrant 
boughs.  Nevertheless,  the  moose  was  on  his 
mind.  Again  in  his  dreams  he  imagined 
himself  back  by  the  quiet,  shining  logon,  lis 
tening  to  the  ring  of  the  antlers  as  they  struck 
the  trees,  and  to  the  heaving  snorts  and  deep 
grunts  of  the  noble  game  as  it  tore  through 
the  forest  to  its  death. 

The  moose  was  on  the  minds  of  his  com 
panions  too.  Again  and  again  they  awoke, 
and  pictured  him  lying  by  the  pond,  where 
he  had  fallen,  —  a  dead  monarch.  They 
tossed  and  grumbled,  longing  for  clay. 

Neal  and  Dol  surprised  themselves  and 
196 


A  Fallen  King.  197 

their  elders  by  being  up  and  dressed  shortly 
after  five,  before  a  streak  of  light  had  entered 
the  cabin.  But  their  guide  was  not  much 
behind  them.  Herb  had  the  camp-fire  going 
well,  and  was  preparing  breakfast  before  six 
o'clock.  The  campers  tucked  away  a  sub 
stantial  meal  of  fried  pork,  potatoes,  and 
coffee.  The  first  glories  of  the  young  sun 
fell  on  their  way  as  they  started  across  the 
clearing  and  away  through  the  woods  beyond, 
towards  the  distant  pond  where  the  hunter 
had  got  his  moose. 

Lying  amid  the  small  growth  and  grasses, 
by  a  lonely,  glinting  logon,  they  found  the 
conquered  king,  sleeping  that  sleep  from 
which  never  sun  again  would  wake  him.  A 
bullet-hole,  crusted  with  dark  blood,  showed 
in  his  side.  The  slim  legs  were  bent  and 
stiff,  and  the  mighty  forefeet  could  no  more 
strike  a  ripping  blow  which  would  end  a 
man's  hunting  forever.  The  antlers  which 
had  made  the  forest  ring  were  powerless 
horn. 

"  Do  you  know,  boys,"  said  Herb,  as  he 
stooped  and  touched  them,  fingering  each 
prong,  "  I've  hunted  moose  in  fall  and  winter 
since  I  was  first  introduced  to  a  rifle.  I've 
still-hunted  'em,  called  'em,  and  followed  'em 


198  Camp  and  Trail. 

on  snowshoes ;  but  I  never  felt  so  thundering 
mean  about  killing  an  animal  as  I  did  about 
dropping  this  fellow.  After  his  antics  in  the 
woods,  when  he  tramped  out  onto  the  open 
patch  where  I  was  waiting  under  cover  of 
those  shrubs,  I  popped  up  and  covered  him 
with  my  Winchester.  He  just  raised  the 
hair  on  his  back  and  looked  at  me,  with  a 
way  wild  animals  sometimes  have,  as  if  I  was 
a  bad  riddle.  Like  as  not  he'd  never  seen  a 
human  being  before,  and  a  moose's  eyes  ain't 
good  for  much  as  danger-signals.  It's  only 
when  he  hears  or  smells  mischief  that  he 
gets  mad  scared. 

"  Well,  I  was  out  for  meat,  and  bound  to 
have  it;  so  I  pulled  the  trigger,  and  killed 
him  with  two  shots.  When  the  first  bullet 
stung  him  he  reared  up,  making  a  sharp  noise 
like  a  wounded  horse.  Then  he  swung  round 
as  if  to  bolt ;  but  the  second  went  straight 
through  his  heart,  and  he  fell  where  you  see 
him  now.  I  made  sure  that  he  was  past  kick 
ing,  and  crept  close  to  his  head,  thinking  he 
was  dead.  He  wasn't  quite  gone,  though  ; 
for  he  saw  me,  and  laid  back  his  ears,  the  last 
pitiful  sign  a  moose  makes  when  a  hunter 
gets  the  better  of  him.  I  tell  you  it  made  me 
feel  bad — just  for  a  minute.  I've  got  my 


A  Fallen  King.  199 

moose  for  this  season,  and  I'm  sort  o'  glad 
that  the  law  won't  let  me  kill  another  unless 
it's  a  life-saving"  matter." 

"  How  tall" should  you  say  this  fellow  was 
when  alive  ?  "  asked  Cyrus,  stroking  the  crea 
ture's  shaggy  hair,  which  was  a  rusty  black 
in  color. 

"  Oh !  I  guess  he  stood  about  as  high  as  a 
good-sized  pony.  But  I've  shot  moose  which 
were  taller  than  any  horse.  The  biggest  one 
I  ever  killed  measured  between  seven  and 
eight  feet  from  the  points  of  his  hoofs  to  his 
shoulders,  and  the  antlers  were  four  feet  and 
nine  inches  from  tip  to  tip.  He  was  a  mon 
ster  —  a  regular  jing-swizzler  !  A  mighty 
queer  way  I  got  him  too !  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it  some  other  time." 

"  Oh !  you  must,"  answered  Garst.  "  You'll 
have  to  give  us  no  end  of  moose-talk  by  the 
camp-fire  of  evenings.  These  English  fel 
lows  want  to  learn  all  they  can  about  the 
finest  game  on  our  continent  before  they 
go  home." 

"Why,  for  evermore!"  gasped  Herb,  in 
broad  amazement.  "  Are  you  Britishers?  And 
have  you  crossed  the  ocean  to  chase  moose 
in  Maine  woods  ?  My  word  !  You're  a  gamy 
pair  of  kids.  We'll  have  to  try  to  accommo- 


2OO  Camp  and  Trail. 

date  you  with  a  sight  of  a  moose  at  any  rate 
-  a  live  one." 

Though  they  would  gladly  have  appropri 
ated  the  compliment,  the  "gamy  kids"  were 
obliged  to  acknowledge  that  hunting  had  not 
been  in  their  thoughts  when  they  traversed 
the  Atlantic.  But  they  avowed  that  they  were 
the  luckiest  fellows  alive,  and  that  the  Ameri 
can  forest-land,  with  its  camps  and  trails  and 
wild  offspring,  was  such  a  glorious  old  play 
ground  that  they  would  never  stop  singing 
its  praises  until  a  swarm  of  boys  from  English 
soil  had  tasted  the  novel  pleasures  which  they 
enjoyed. 

"  Now,  then,  gentlemen  !  "  said  the  guide, 
"  I  haven't  much  idea  that  we'll  be  able  to 
haul  this  moose  along  to  camp  whole.  If  I 
skin  and  dress  him  herer  are  you  all  ready  to 
help  in  carrying  home  the  meat  ?  " 

The  trio  briskly  expressed  their  willing 
ness,  and  Herb  began  the  dissecting  business; 
while  from  a  tree  near  by  that  strange  bird 
which  hunters  call  the  "  moose-bird  "  screamed 
its  shrill  "What  cheer?  What  cheer?"  with 
ceaseless  persistence. 

"  Oh,  hold  your  noise,  you  squalling  thing!" 
said  the  guide,  answering  it  back.  "  It's  good 
cheer  this  time.  We'll  have  a  feast  of  moose- 


A  Fallen  King.  201 

meat  to-night,  and  there'll  be  pickings  for 
you." 

He  then  explained,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
English  lads,  that  this  bird,  whose  cry  is 
startlingly  like  the  hunters'  translation  of  it, 
haunts  the  spot  where  a  moose  has  been 
killed,  waiting  greedily  for  its  meal  off  the 
creature  after  men  have  taken  their  share  of 
the  meat.  Herb  declared  that  it  had  often 
followed  him  for  hours  while  he  was  stealthily 
tracking  a  moose,  to  be  in  at  the  death.  And 
now  it  kept  up  the  din  of  its  unceasing  ques- 
-  tion  until  he  had  finished  his  disagreeable 
work. 

As  the  party  started  back  to  camp,  each 
one  weighted  with  forty  pounds  or  more  of 
meat,  Herb  carrying  a  double  portion,  with 
the  antlers  hooked  upon  his  shoulders,  they 
heard  the  moose-bird  still  insatiably  shrieking 
"  What  cheer?"  over  its  meal. 

"  Say,  boys,"  said  the  guide,  as  he  stalked 
along  with  his  heavy  load,  never  blenching, 
"  if  you  want  to  get  a  pair  o'  moose-antlers, 
now's  your  time.  I  ain't  a-going  to  sell  these, 
but  I'll  give  'em  outright  to  the  first  fellow 
who  can  learn  to  call  a  moose  successfully 
while  he's  hunting  with  me.  I  know  what 
sort  of  sportsman  Cyrus  Garst  is.  He'll  go 


2O2  Camp  and  Trail. 

prowling  through  the  woods,  starting  moose 
and  coolly  letting  'em  get  off  without  spilling 
a  drop  of  blood,  while  he's  watching  the  length 
of  their  steps.  I  b'lieve  he'd  be  a  sight 
prouder  of  seeing  one  crunch  a  root  than  if 
he  got  the  finest  head  in  Maine.  So  here's 
your  chance  for  a  trophy,  boys.  I  guess  'twill 
be  your  only  one." 

"  Hurrah  !  I'm  in  for  this  game  !  "  cried 
Neal. 

"  I  too,"  said  Cyrus. 

"  I'm  in  for  it  with  a  vengeance  ! "  whooped 
Dol.  "  Though  I'm  blessed  if  I've  a  notion 
what  '  calling  a  moose  '  means." 

"  How  much  have  you  larned,  anyhow, 
Kid,  in  the  bit  o'  time  you've  been  alive  ? " 
asked  the  woodsman,  with  good-humored 
sarcasm. 

"  Enough  to  make  my  fists  talk  to  anybody 
who  thinks  I'm  a  duffer,"  answered  Dol, 
squaring  his  shoulders  as  if  to  make  the  most 
of  himself. 

"  Good  for  you,  young  England  !  "  laughed 
Cyrus. 

Herb  turned  his  eyes,  and  regarded  the 
juvenile  Adolphus  with  amused  criticism. 

"  Britisher  or  no  Britisher,  I'll  allow  you're 
a  little  man,"  he  muttered.  "  Keep  a  stiff 


A  Fallen  King.  203 

upper  lip,   boys ;  we're   not   far    from    camp 
now." 

A  word  of  cheer  was  needed.  Not  one  of 
the  trio  had  growled  at  their  load,  but  the 
flannel  shirts  of  the  two  Farrars  clung  wetly 
to  their  bodies.  Their  breath  was  coming  in 
hard  puffs  through  spread  nostrils.  A  four- 
mile  tramp  through  the  woods,  heavily  laden 
with  raw  meat,  was  a  novel  but  not  an  alto 
gether  delightful  experience. 

However,  the  smell  of  moose-steak  frying 
over  their  camp-fire  later  on  fully  compen 
sated  them  for  acting  as  butcher's  boys. 
When  the  taste  as  well  as  the  smell  had  been 
enjoyed,  the  rest  which  followed  by  the  blaz 
ing  birch-logs  that  evening  was  so  full  of 
bliss  that  each  camper  felt  as  if  existence  had 
at  last  drifted  to  a  point  of  superb  content. 

Their  camp-door  stood  open  for  ventilation ; 
and  a  keen  touch  of  frost,  mingling  with  the 
night  air  which  entered,  made  the  fragrant 
warmth  delightful. 

When  supper  was  ended,  and  the  tin  ves 
sels  from  which  it  had  been  eaten,  together 
with  all  camp  utensils,  were  duly  cleaned, 
Herb  seated  himself  on  the  middle  of  the 
bench,  which  he  called  "  the  deacon's  seat," 
and  luxuriously  lit  his  oldest  pipe.  His  brawny 


2O4  Camp  and  Trail. 

hands  had  performed  every  duty  connected 
with  the  meal  as  deftly  and  neatly  as  those 
of  a  delicate-fingered  woman. 

"  Well,  for  downright  solid  comfort,  boys, 
give  me  a  cosey  camp-fire  in  the  wilderness, 
when  a  fellow  is  tired  out  after  a  good  day's 
outing.  City  life  can  offer  nothing  to  touch 
it,"  said  Cyrus,  as  he  spread  his  blankets  near 
the  cheerful  blaze,  and  sprawled  himself  upon 
them. 

Neal  and  Dol  followed  his  example.  The 
three  looked  up  at  their  guide,  on  whose 
weather-tanned  face  the  fire  shed  wavering 
lights,  in  lazy  expectation. 

"  Now,  Herb,"  said  Garst,  "  we  want  to 
think  of  nothing  but  moose  for  the  remainder 
of  this  trip ;  so  go  ahead,  and  give  us  some 
moose-talk  to-night.  Begin  at  the  beginning, 
as  the  children  say,  and  tell  us  everything 
you  know  about  the  animal." 

Herb  Heal  swung  himself  to  and  fro  upon 
his  plank  seat,  drawing  his  pipe  reflectively, 
and  letting  its  smoke  filter  through  his  nos 
trils,  while  he  prepared  to  answer. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  slowly,  "it  seems 
to  me  that  a  moose  is  a  troublesome  brute  to 
tackle,  however  you  take  him.  It's  plaguy 
hard  for  a  hunter  to  get  the  better  of  him, 


A  Fallen  King.  205 

and  if  it's  only  knowledge  you're  after,  he'll 
dodge  you  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  till  you  get 
pretty  mixed  in  your  notions  about  his  habits. 
I  guess  these  English  fellows  know  already 
that  he's  the  largest  animal  of  the  deer  tribe, 
or  any  other  tribe,  to  be  seen  on  this  con 
tinent,  and  as  grand  game  as  can  be  found 
on  any  spot  of  this  here  earth.  I  hain't  had  a 
chance  to  chase  lions  an'  tigers;  but  I've  shot 
grizzlies  over  in  Canada,  —  and  that's  scarey 
work,  you  better  b'lieve  !  —  and  I  tell  you 
there's  no  sport  that'll  bring  out  the  grit  and 
ingenuity  that's  in  a  man  like  moose-hunting. 
Now,  boys,  ask  me  any  questions  you  like, 
an'  I'll  try  to  answer  'em." 

"You  said  something  to-day  about  moose 
'  crunching  twigs,' '  began  Neal  eagerly. 
"  Why,  I  always  had  a  hazy  idea  that  they  fed 
on  moss  altogether,  which  they  dug  up  in 
the  winter  with  their  broad  antlers." 

"  Land  o'  liberty  !  "  ejaculated  the  woods 
man.  "  Where  on  earth  do  you  city  men 
pick  up  your  notions  about  forest  creatures 
—  that's  what  I'd  like  to  know?  A  moose 
can't  get  its  horns  to  the  ground  without 
dropping  on  its  knees ;  and  it  can't  nibble 
grass  from  the  ground  neither  without  sprawl 
ing  out  its  long  legs,  —  which  for  an  animal  of 


2o6  Camp  and  Trail. 

its  size  are  as  thin  as  pipe-stems,  —  and  tum 
bling  in  a  heap.  So  I  don't  credit  that  yarn 
about  their  digging  up  the  moss,  even  when 
there's  no  other  food  to  be  had  ;  though  I 
can't  say  for  sure  it's  not  true.  In  summer 
moose  feed  about  the  ponds  and  streams,  on 
the  long  grasses  and  lily-pads.  They're  at 
home  in  the  water,  and  mighty  fine  swim 
mers  ;  so  the  red  men  say  that  they  came  first 
from  the  sea. 

"  In  the  fall,  and  through  the  winter  too, 
so  far  as  I  can  make  out,  they  eat  the  twigs 
and  bark  of  different  trees,  such  as  white 
birches  and  poplars.  They're  powerful  fond 
of  moose-wood  —  that's  what  you  call  moun 
tain  ash.  I  guess  it  tastes  to  them  like  pie 
does  to  us." 

"  Well,  Dol,  I  feel  that  you're  twitching  all 
over  with  some  question,"  said  Cyrus,  detect 
ing  uneasy  movements  on  the  part  of  the 
younger  boy  who  lay  next  to  him.  "  What 
is  it,  Chick  ?  Out  with  it !  " 

"  I  want  to  hear  about  moose-calling,"  so 
spoke  Dol  in  heart-eager  tones. 

The  guide  swung  his  body  to  the  music  01 
a  jingling  laugh. 

"  Oh  ;  that's  it ;  is  it?  "  he  said.  "  You're 
stuck  on  winning  those  antlers  ;  ain't  you, 


A  Fallen  King.  207 

Dol  ?  Well,  calling  is  the  '  moose-hunter's 
secret,'  and  it's  a  secret  that  he  don't  want  to 
give  away  to  every  one.  When  a  man  is  a 
good  caller  he's  kind  o'  jealous  about  keep 
ing  the  trick  to  himself.  But  I'll  tell  you  how 
it's  done,  anyhow,  and  give  you  a  lesson  some 
time.  Sakes  alive  !  if  you  Britishers  could 
only  take  over  a  birch-bark  trumpet,  and  give 
that  call  in  England,  you'd  make  nearly  as 
much  fuss  as  Buffalo  Bill  did  with  his  cow 
boys  and  Injuns.  Only  'twould  be  a  one 
sided  game,  for  there'd  be  no  moose  to 


answer." 


The  young  Farrars  were  silent,  breathlessly 
waiting  for  more.  The  camp-firelight  showed 
their  absorbed  faces  ;  it  played  upon  bronzed 
cheeks,  where  the  ruddy  tints  of  English  boy 
hood  had  been  replaced  by  a  duller,  hardier 
hue.  On  Neal's  upper  lip  a  fine,  fair  growth 
had  sprouted,  which  looked  white  against  his 
sun-tinged  skin.  As  for  Cyrus,  he  had  never 
brought  a  razor  into  the  woods  since  that 
memorable  trip  when  the  bear  had  over 
hauled  his  knapsack  ;  so  the  Bostonian's  chin 
was  covered  with  a  thick  black  stubble. 

Neither  of  the  youths,  however,  was  at 
present  giving  a  thought  to  his  hirsute  adorn 
ment,  about  which  questionable  compliments 


208  Camp  and  Trail. 

were  frequently  bandied.  Their  minds  were 
full  of  moose,  and  their  ears  alert  for  the 
guide's  next  words. 

"  P'raps  you  folks  don't  know,"  went  on 
the  woodsman,  "  that  there  are  four  ways  o' 
hunting  moose.  The  first  and  fairest  is  still- 
hunting  'em  in  the  woods,  which  means  fol 
lowing  their  signs,  and  getting  a  shot  in  any 
way  you  can,  if  you  can.  But  that's  a  stiff 
'if  to  a  hunter.  Nine  times  out  o'  ten  a 
moose  will  baffle  him  and  get  off  unhurt, 
even  when  a  man  has  tracked  him  for  days, 
camping  on  his  trail  o'  nights.  The  snap 
ping  of  a  twig  not  the  size  of  my  little  finger, 
or  one  tramping  step,  and  the  moose'll  take 
warning.  He'll  light  out  o'  the  way  as  si 
lently  as  a  red  man  in  moccasins,  and  the 
hunter  won't  even  know  he's  gone. 

"The  second  way  is  night-hunting,  going 
after  'em  in  a  canoe  with  a  jack-light ;  same 
thing  as  jacking  for  deer.  I  guess  you've 
tried  that,  so  you'll  know  what  it's  like  — 
skeery  kind  o'  work." 

Neal  nodded  an  eloquent  assent,  and  Herb 
went  on  :  — 

"  The  third  method  is  a  dog's  trick.  It's 
following  'em  on  snowshoes  over  deep  snow. 
I've  tried  that  once,  and  I'm  blamed  if  I'll 


A  Fallen  King.  209 

ever  try  it  again.  It's  butchery,  not  sport. 
The  crust  of  snow  will  be  strong  enough  for  a 
man  to  run  on,  but  it  can't  support  the  heavy 
moose.  The  creature'll  go  smashing  through 
it  and  struggling  out,  until  its  slim  legs  are  a 
sight  to  see  for  cuts  and  blood.  Soon  it  gets 
blowed,  and  can  stumble  no  farther.  Then 
the  hunter  finishes  it  with  an  axe." 

Disgust  thickened  the  voices  of  the  listen 
ing  three,  as  with  one  accord  they  raised  an 
outcry  against  this  cruel  way  of  butchering  a 
game  animal,  without  giving  it  a  single  chance 
for  its  life.  When  their  indignation  had  sub 
sided,  the  hunter  went  on  to  describe  the 
fourth  and  last  method  of  entrapping  moose 
—  the  calling  in  which  Dol  was  so  interested. 

"  P'raps  you  won't  think  this  is  fair  hunt 
ing  either,"  he  said  ;  "  for  it's  a  trick,  and  I'll 
allow  that  there's  times  when  it  seems  a  pretty 
mean  game.  Anyhow,  I'd  rather  kill  one 
moose  by  still-hunting  than  six  by  calling. 
But  if  you  want  to  try  work  that'll  make  your 
blood  race  through  your  body  like  a  torrent 
one  minute,  and  turn  you  as  cold  as  if  your 
sweat  was  ice-water  the  next,  you  go  in  for 
moose-calling.  I  guess  you  know  all  about 
the  matter,  Cyrus ;  but  as  these  Britishers 
do  not,  I'll  try  and  explain  it  to'  em. 


2io  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Early  in  September  the  moose  come  up 
from  the  low,  swampy  lands  where  they  have 
spent  the  summer  alone,  and  begin  to  pair. 
Then  the  bull-moose,  as  we  call  the  male, 
which  is  generally  the  most  wide-awake  of 
forest  creatures,  loses  some  of  his  big  caution, 
an'  goes  roaming  through  the  woods,  looking 
for  a  mate.  This  is  the  time  for  fooling  him. 
The  hunter  makes  a  horn  out  o'  birch-bark, 
somewheres  about  eighteen  inches  long, 
through  which  he  mimics  the  call  of  the  cow- 
moose,  to  coax  the  bull  within  reach  of  his 
rifle-shots." 

"What  is  the  call  like?"  asked  Neal,  his 
heart  thumping  while  he  remembered  that 
strange  noise  which  had  marked  a  new  era 
in  his  experience  of  sounds,  as  he  listened  to 
it  at  midnight  by  Squaw  Pond. 

"Sho!  a  man  might  keep  jawing  till  crack 
o'  doom,  and  not  give  you  any  idea  of  it  with 
out  you  heard  it,"  answered  Herb  Heal,  the 
dare-all  moose-hunter.  "  The  noise  begins 
sort  o'  gently,  like  the  lowing  of  a  tame  cow. 
It  seems,  if  you're  listening  to  it,  to  come 
rolling  —  rolling  —  along  the  ground.  Then 
it  rises  in  pitch,  and  gets  impatient  and  lonely 
and  wild-like,  till  you  think  it  fills  the  air 
above  you,  when  it  sinks  again  and  dies  away 


A  Fallen  King.  2 1 1 

in  a  queer,  quavery  sound  that  ain't  a  sigh, 
nor  a  groan,  nor  a  grunt,  but  all  three  to 
gether. 

"  The  call  is  mostly  repeated  three  times  ; 
and  the  third  time  it  ends  with  a  mad  roar  as 
if  the  lady-moose  was  saying  to  her  mate, 
'  Come  now,  or  stay  away  altogether ! ' 

"  Joe  Flint  was  right,  then  !  "  exclaimed 
Neal,  in  high  excitement.  "  That's  the  very 
noise  I  heard  in  the  woods  near  Squaw  Pond, 
on  the  night  when  we  were  jacking  for  deer, 
and  our  canoe  capsized." 

"P'raps  it  was,"  answered  Herb,  "though 
the  woods  near  Squaw  Pond  ain't  much  good 
for  moose  now.  They're  too  full  of  hunters. 
Still,  you  might  have  heard  the  cow-moose 
herself  calling,  or  some  man  who  had  come 
across  the  tracks  of  a  bull  imitating  her." 

"  But  if  the  bull  has  such  sharp  ears,  can't 
he  tell  the  real  call  from  the  sham  one  ? " 
asked  Dol. 

"  Lots  of  times  he  can.  But  if  the  hunter 
is  an  old  woodsman  and  a  clever  caller,  he'll 
generally  fool  the  animal,  unless  he  makes 
some  awkward  noise  that  isn't  in  the  game, 
or  else  the  moose  gets  his  scent  on  the 
breeze.  One  whiff  of  a  man  will  send  the 
creature  off  like  a  wind-gust,  and  earthquakes 


212  Camp  and  Trail. 

wouldn't  stop  him.  And  though  he  sneaks 
away  so  silently  when  he  hears  anything  sus 
picious,  yet  when  he  smells  danger  he'll  go 
through  the  forest  at  a  thundering  rush, 
making  as  much  noise  as  a  demented  fire- 
brigade." 

"Good  gracious!"  ejaculated  Neal  and 
t)ol  together. 

"Is  the  moose  ever  dangerous,  Herb?" 
asked  the  former. 

"  I  guess  he  is  pretty  often.  Sometimes  a 
bull-moose  will  turn  on  a  hunter,  and  make 
at  him  full  tilt,  if  he's  in  danger  or  finds  him 
self  tricked.  And  he'll  always  fight  like  fury 
to  protect  his  mate  from  any  enemy.  The 
bulls  have  awful  big  duels  between  them 
selves  occasionally.  When  they're  real  mad, 
they  don't  stop  for  a  few  wounds.  They  prod 
each  other  with  their  terrible  brow  antlers  till 
one  or  the  other  of  'em  is  stretched  dead. 
If  a  moose  ever  charges  you,  boys,  take  my 
advice,  and  don't  try  to  face  him  with  your 
rifles.  Half  a  dozen  shots  mightn't  stop  him. 
Make  for  the  nearest  tree,  and  climb  for  your 
lives.  Fire  down  on  him  then,  if  you  can. 
But  once  let  him  get  a  kick  at  you  with  his 
forefeet,  and  one  thing  is  sure  — you'll  never 
kick  again.  Are  you  tired  of  moose-talk  yet  ?" 


A  Fallen  King.  213 

"Not  by  a  jugful!"  answered  Cyrus, 
laughing.  "  But  tell  us,  Herb,  "how  are  we 
to  proceed  to  get  a  sight  of  this  '  Jabberwock' 
alive?" 

"  If  to-morrow  night  happens  to  be  dead 
calm,  I  might  try  to  call  one  up,"  answered 
the  guide.  "  There's  a  pretty  good  calling- 
place  near  the  south  end  of  the  lake.  As 
this  is  the  height  of  the  season,  we  might  get 
an  answer  there.  We'll  try  it,  anyhow,  if 
you're  willing." 

"Willing!  I  should  say  we  are!"  an 
swered  Garst.  "  You're  our  captain  now, 
Herb,  and  it's  a  case  of  '  Follow  my  leader !  ' 
Take  us  anywhere  you  like,  through  jungles 
or  mud-swamps.  We  won't  kick  at  hardships 
if  we  can  only  get  a  good  look  at  his  moose- 
ship.  Up  to  the  present,  except  for  that  one 
moonlight  peep,  he  has  always  dodged  me 
like  a  phantom." 

"Are  you  going  to  be  satisfied  with  a 
look  ?  "  The  guide's  eyes  narrowed  into  two 
long  slits,  on  which  the  firelight  quivered,  as 
he  gazed  quizzically  dpwn  upon  Cyrus.  "If 
the  moose  comes  within  reach  of  our  shots, 
ain't  anybody  going  to  pump  lead  into  him  ? 
Or  is  he  to  get  off  again  scot-free  ?  I've 
got  my  moose  for  this  season,  and  I  darsn't 


214  Camp  and  Trail. 

send  my  bullets  through  the  law  by  dropping 
another,  so  I  can't  do  the  shooting." 

"  My  friends  can  please  themselves,"  said 
the  Bostonian,  glancing  at  the  English  lads. 
"  For  my  own  part  I'll  be  better  pleased  if 
Mr.  Moose  manages  to  keep  a  whole  skin. 
Our  grand  game  is  getting  scarce  enough  ;  I 
don't  want  to  lessen  it.  I  once  saw  the  last 
persecuted  deer  in  a  county,  after  it  had 
been  badgered  and  wounded  by  men  and 
dogs,  limp  off  to  die  alone  in  its  native 
haunts.  The  sight  cured  me  of  blood  thirst." 

"I  guess  'twould  be  enough  to  cure  any 
man,"  responded  Herb.  "And  we  don't 
want  meat,  so  this  time  we  won't  shoot  our 
moose  after  we've  tricked  him.  Good  land  ! 
I  wouldn't  like  any  fellow  to  imitate  the  call 
of  my  best  girl,  that  he  might  put  a  bullet 
through  me.  Come,  boys,  it's  pretty  late  ; 
let's  fix  our  fire,  and  turn  in." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

MOOSE-CALLING. 

NOTHING  was  talked  about  among  the 
campers  on  the  following  day  but  the 
forthcoming  sport  of  the  evening  —  moose- 
calling. 

Herb  Heal  had  decided  that  his  call  should 
be  given  from  the  water,  his  "good  calling- 
place  "  being  an  alder-fringed  logon  at  the 
loneliest  extremity  of  the  lake. 

During  the  afternoon  he  took  Neal  and 
Dol  with  him  into  a  grove  of  poplars  and 
birches  which  bordered  one  end  of  the  clear 
ing,  leaving  Cyrus  lounging  by  the  camp-fire. 
Here  the  woodsman  began  the  exciting  work 
of  preparing  his  birch-bark  horn,  that  primi 
tive  but  potent  trumpet  through  which  he 
215 


216  Camp  and  Trail. 

would  sigh,  groan,  grunt,  and  roar,  imitating 
each  varying  mood  of  the  cow-moose.  To 
her  call  he  had  often  listened  as  he  lay  for 
hours  on  a  mossy  bed  in  the  far  depths  of 
the  forest,  learning  to  interpret  the  language 
of  every  woodland  creature. 

Unsheathing  his  hunting-knife,  and  select 
ing  a  sound  white-birch  tree,  Herb  carefully 
removed  from  it  a  piece  of  bark  about  eigh 
teen  inches  in  length  and  six  in  width.  This 
he  carefully  trimmed,  and  rolled  into  a  horn 
as  a  child  would  twist  paper  into  a  cornu 
copia  package  for  sweets,  tying  it  with  the 
twine-like  roots  of  the  ground  juniper.  The 
tapering  end  of  the  trumpet,  which  would  be 
applied  to  the  caller's  lips,  measured  about 
one  inch  across  ;  its  mouth  measured  five. 

Returning  to  camp,  Herb  dipped  the  horn 
in  warm  water  and  then  let  it.  dry,  saying  that 
this  would  produce  a  mellow  ring.  He 
stoutly  refused  all  appeals  from  the  boys  to 
give  them  a  few  illustrations  of  moose-calling 
there  and  then,  with  a  lesson  in  the  art, 
declaring  that  it  would  spoil  the  night's  sport, 
and  that  they  must  first  hear  the  call  amid 
proper  surroundings.  From  time  to  time  he 
impressed  upon  them  that  they  were  going 
to  engage  in  an  expedition  which  required 


Moose  -  Calling.  2 1 7 

absolute  silence  and  clever  stratagem  to  make 
it  successful.  He  vowed  to  wreak  a  woods 
man's  vengeance  on  any  fellow  who  balked 
it  by  shaking  the  boat,  or  by  moving  body  or 
rifle  so  as  to  make  a  noise. 

A  light,  humming  breeze  had  been  blow 
ing  all  day;  but  as  the  afternoon  waned,  it 
died  down.  The  evening  proved  clear,  chilly, 
and  still. 

"  Is  this  a  likely  night  for  calling,  Herb?" 
asked  Cyrus  anxiously,  taking  a  survey  of 
sky  and  lake  from  the  camp-door  about  an 
hour  before  the  start. 

"  Fine,"  answered  Herb  with  satisfaction. 
"  Guess  we'll  get  an  answer  sure,  if  there's 
a  moose  within  hearing.  There  ain't  a  puff 
of  wind  to  carry  our  scent,  and  give  the  trick 
away.  But  rig  yourselves  up  in  all  the 
clothing  you've  got,  boys  ;  the  cold,  while 
we're  waiting,  may  be  more  than  you  bargain 
for." 

The  guide  had  a  light  boat  on  the  lake, 
moored  below  the  camp.  At  six  o'clock  he 
seated  himself  therein,  taking  the  oars  in  his 
brawny  hands.  Cyrus  and  Neal  took  their 
places  in  the  stern  ;  while  Dol  disposed  of 
himself  snugly  in  the  bow,  right  under  a  jack- 
lamp  which  Herb  had  carefully  trimmed  and 


218  Camp  and  Trail. 

lit.  But  he  had  closed  its  sliding  door,  which, 
being  padded  with  buckskin,  could  be  opened 
and  shut  without  a  sound,  so  that  not  a  ray 
of  light  at  present  escaped. 

"  Moose  won't  stand  to  watch  a  jack  as 
deer  do,"  he  said.  "  Twill  only  scare  'em 
off.  They're  a  heap  too  cute  to  be  taken  in 
by  an  onnatural  big  star  floating  over  the 
water.  But  'taint  the  lucky  side  of  the  moon 
for  us.  She  '11  rise  late,  and  her  light  '11  be 
so  feeble  that  it  wouldn't  show  us  an  elephant 
clearly  if  he  was  under  our  noses.  So  if  I 
succeed  in  coaxing  a  bull  to  the  brink  of  the 
water,  I'll  open  the  jack,  and  flash  our  light 
on  him.  He'll  bolt  the  next  minute  as  quick 
as  greased  lightning  on  skates  ;  but  if  you 
only  get  a  short  sight  of  him,  I  promise  that 
'twill  be  one  you'll  remember." 

"  And  if  he  should  take  a  notion  to  come 
for  us  ?  "  said  Cyrus. 

"  He  won't,  if  we  don't  fire.  The  boat 
will  be  lying  among  the  black  shadows,  snug 
in  by  the  bank,  and  he'll  see  nothing  but  the 
dazzling  light.  But  you  fellows  must  keep 
still  as  death.  Off  we  go  now,  boys,  and 
mum's  the  word  !  " 

This  was  almost  the  last  sentence  spoken. 
Not  a  syllable  moved  the  lips  of  any  one  of 


Moose  -  Calling.  2 1 9 

the  four,  as  the  boat  glided  away  from  camp 
towards  the  south  end  of  the  lake,  the  oars 
making  scarcely  a  sound  as  Herb  handled 
them.  By  and  by  he  ceased  rowing  for  an 
instant,  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  knocked 
out  its  ashes,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket  with 
a  wise  look  at  his  companions,  murmuring, 
"  Don't  want  no  tobacco  incense  floating 
around ! " 

At  the  same  time,  from  a  distant  ridge  upon 
the  eastern  shore,  covered  with  evergreens 
which  stood  out  like  dark  steeples  against  the 
evening  sky,  came  a  faint,  dull  noise,  as  if 
some  belated  woodsman  was  driving  a  blunt 
axe  against  a  tree.  The  sound  itself  would 
scarcely  have  awakened  a  hope  of  anything 
unusual  in  the  minds  of  the  inexperienced  ; 
but,  combined  with  the  guide's  aspect  as  he 
pocketed  his  pipe,  it  made  Cyrus  and  his 
comrades  sit  suddenly  erect,  listening  as  if 
ears  were  the  only  organs  they  possessed. 

The  queer,  dull  noise  was  once  repeated. 
Then  again  there  was  silence  almost  abso 
lute,  Herb's  oars  moving  with  the  softest 
swish  imaginable,  as  the  boat  skimmed  along 
the  lonely,  curved  bay  which  he  had  chosen 
for  a  calling-place.  It  came  to  a  stop  amid 
shadows  so  dense  and  black  that  they  seemed 


22O  Camp  and  Trail. 

almost  tangible,  close  to  a  bank  fringed  with 
overhanging  bushes,  having  a  background 
of  evergreens.  These  last,  in  the  fast-gath 
ering  darkness,  looked  like  a  sable  array  of 
mourners  in  whose  ranks  a  pale  ghost  or 
two  mingled,  the  spectres  being  slim  white- 
birch  trees. 

The  opposite  bank  presented  a  similar 
scene. 

It  was  amid  such  surroundings  that  Neal 
Farrar  heard  for  the  second  time  in  his  life 
the  weird  sound  of  the  moose-hunter's  call. 
He  was  a  strong,  well-balanced  young  fellow  ; 
yet  here  again  he  knew  the  sensation  as  if 
needles  were  pricking  him  all  over,  which  he 
had  felt  once  before  in  these  wilds,  while  his 
heart  seemed  to  be  performing  athletic  sports 
in  his  body. 

Cyrus  and  Dol  confessed  afterwards  that 
they  were  "  all  shivers  and  goose-flesh"  as 
the  call  rose  upon  the  night  air. 

After  he  had  shipped  his  oars,  and  laid 
them  down,  Herb  Heal  noiselessly  turned  his 
body  to  face  the  bow,  and  took  up  the  birch- 
bark  horn  which  lay  beside  him.  He  breathed 
into  it  anxiously  once  or  twice,  then  paused, 
drew  in  all  the  air  which  his  big  lungs  could 
contain,  put  the  trumpet  again  to  his  lips 


Moose  -  Ca  lling.  2  2 1 

with  its  mouth  pointing  downward,  and  be 
gan  his  summons. 

The  first  part  of  the  call  lasted  half  a 
minute,  or  so,  without  a  break.  During  its 
execution  the  hunter  moved  his  neck  and 
shoulders  first  to  the  left,  then  to  the  right, 
and  slowly  raised  the  horn  above  his  head, 
the  rolling,  plaintive  sounds  with  which  he 
commenced  gathering  power  and  pitch  with 
the  ascending  motion.  As  the  birch  trumpet 
pointed  straight  upward,  they  seemed  to  sweep 
aloft  in  a  surging  crescendo,  and  boom  among 
the  tree-tops. 

Carrying  his  head  again  to  the  left  and 
right,  Herb  gradually  lowered  the  horn  until 
it  was  once  more  pointed  towards  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  having  in  its  movements  described 
in  the  air  a  big  figure  of  eight.  The  call 
sank  with  it,  and  died  away  in  a  lonely,  sigh 
ing,  quavering  grunt. 

Two  seconds'  pause,  two  slow,  great  throbs 
of  the  boys'  hearts,  so  loud  that  they  threat 
ened  to  burst  the  stillness. 

Then  the  call  began  again,  low  and  grum 
bling.  Again  it  rose,  swelled,  quavered,  and 
sank,  full  of  lonely  longing. 

A  third  time  it  surged  up,  and  ended  ab 
ruptly  in  a  wild,  ear-splitting  roar,  which  struck 


222  Camp  and  Trail. 

the  tops  of  distant  hills,  and  rolled  off  in  thun 
der-like  echoes  among  them. 

Silence  followed.  Not  a  gasp  came  from 
Herb  after  his  efforts.  Cyrus  and  the  Far- 
rars  tried  to  still  their  heaving  chests,  while 
each  quick  breath  was  an  expectation. 

An  answer !  Surely  it  was  an  answer ! 
The  boys  never  doubted  it;  though  the  re 
sponding  sound  they  caught  was  only  a  repe 
tition  of  that  far-away  chopping  noise,  which 
resembled  the  heavy  thud  of  an  axe  against 
wood.  This  came  nearer —  nearer.  It  was 
followed  once  by  a  sort  of  short,  sharp  bark. 

Then  the  motionless  occupants  of  the  boat 
heard  random,  guttural  grunts,  a  smashing  of 
dead  branches,  crashing  of  undergrowth,  and 
the  proud  ring  of  mighty  antlers  against  the 
trees.  The  lord  of  the  forest,  a  big  bull- 
moose,  was  tearing  recklessly  through  the 
woods  towards  the  lake,  in  answer  to  the  call 
of  his  imaginary  mate. 

To  say  that  the  hearts  of 'our  trio  were 
performing  gymnastic  feats  during  these  aw 
fully  silent  minutes  of  waiting,  is  to  say  little. 
All  the  repressed  motion  of  their  bodies 
seemed  concentrated  in  these  organs,  which 
raced,  leaped,  stopped  short,  and  pounded, 
vibrating  to  such  questions  as  :  — 


Moose — Ca  lling.  223 

"  Will  he  come  ?  Where  shall  we  first  see 
him  ?  How  near  is  he  now  ?  Does  he  sus 
pect  the  trick  ?  Will  he  give  us  the  slip 
after  all  ?  —  Has  he  gone  ?  " 

For  of  a  sudden  dead  stillness  reigned  in 
the  forest.  No  more  trampling,  grunting, 
and  knocking  of  antlers.  The  spirits  of  the 
three  sank  to  zero.  Their  breathing  became 
thick.  The  blood,  which  a  moment  before 
had  played  like  wildfire  in  their  veins,  now 
stirred  sluggishly  as  if  it  was  freezing.  Dis 
appointment,  blank  and  bitter,  shivered 
through  them  from  neck  to  foot. 

So  passed  quarter  of  an  hour.  A  filmy 
mist  rose  from  the  surface  of  the  water,  and 
drifted  by  their  faces  like  the  brushing  of 
cold  wings.  For  lack  of  motion  hand  and 
feet  felt  numb.  Mid  the  pitch-black  shadows, 
snug  in  by  the  bank,  no  man  could  see  the 
face  of  his  fellow,  though  the  trio  would  have 
given  a  fortune  to  read  their  guide's.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken.  Once,  when  a  deep  breath 
of  impatience  escaped  him,  Neal  heard  the 
folds  of  his  coat  rub  each  other,  and  clenched 
his  teeth  to  stop  an  exclamation  at  the  sound, 
which  he  had  never  noticed  before. 

Nearly  twenty  minutes  had  elapsed  since 
the  last  noise  had  been  heard  in  the  woods, 


224  Camp  and  Trail. 

when  Herb  took  up  the  horn  which  he  had 
laid  down,  and  put  it  to  his  mouth.  Again 
the  call  rolled  up.  It  was  neither  loud  nor 
long  this  time,  ending  with  a  quick,  short 
roar. 

As  it  ceased  the  guide  plunged  his  arm 
into  the  water  and  slowly  withdrew  it,  letting 
drops  dribble  from  his  fingers. 

The  novices  could  only  suspect  that  this 
manoeuvre  was  another  lure  for  the  bull- 
moose,  if  he  chanced  to  be  still  within  hear 
ing.  Its  success  took  their  breath  away. 

The  wary  bull  which  had  answered,  having 
doubtless  harbored  a  suspicion  that  all  was 
not  exactly  right  with  the  first  call,  had  halted 
in  his  on-coming  rush,  with  head  upreared, 
and  nostrils  spread,  trying  to  catch  any  taint 
in  the  air  which  might  warn  him  of  danger. 
But  in  the  dead  calm  the  heavy  evergreens 
stirred  not ;  no  whiff  reached  him.  The 
second  call  upset  his  prudence.  Then  he 
heard  that  splash  and  dribble  in  the  water, 
and  imagined  that  his  impatient  mate  was 
dipping  her  nose  into  the  lake  for  a  cool 
drink. 

A  snort !  A  bellowing  challenge  quite 
indescribable  !  On  he  came  again  with  a 
thundering  rush  ! 


Moose  -  Ca  II ing.  225 

Bushes  were  thrashed  and  spurned  by  his 
sharp  hoofs.  Branches  snapped.  Trees 
echoed  as  his  antlers  struck  them. 

A  musk-rat  leaped  from  the  bank  ahead, 
and  dived  to  reach  his  hole  in  the  bank. 
Under  cover  of  the  noisy  splash  which  the 
little  creature  made,  one  whisper  was  hissed 
by  Herb's  tongue  into  the  ears  of  his  com 
rades.  It  was :  — 

"  Gee  whittaker  !  he's  a  big  one  !  Listen 
to  them  shovels  against  the  trees !  " 

A  minute  later,  with  a  deep  gulp  of  in 
tense  excitement,  and  a  general  racket  as  if 
an  engine  had  broken  loose  from  brakes  and 
checks,  and  was  carrying  all  before  it,  the  mon 
arch  of  the  woods  crashed  through  the  alders 
and  halted,  with  his  hoofs  in  the  water, 
scarcely  thirty  yards  from  where  the  boat  lay 
in  shadow. 

This  was  a  supreme  moment  for  our  trav 
ellers.  Leaning  forward,  fearful  lest  their 
heart-beats  should  betray  them,  they  could 
barely  distinguish  the  outlines  of  the  moose, 
as  he  stood  with  his  enormous  nose  high  in 
air,  giving  vent  to  deep  gulps  and  grunts, 
and  looking  to  right  and  left  in  bewilderment 
for  that  cow  which  he  had  heard  calling. 

For  fully  five  minutes  he  stood  thus,  badly 


226  Camp  and  Trail. 

puzzled,  now  and  again  stamping  a  hoof,  and 
scattering  spray  in  rising  wrath.  Then  Herb 
bent  forward,  shot  out  a  long  arm,  and  silently 
opened  the  jack. 

Meteor-like  its  silver  light  flashed  forth,  to 
reveal  a  sight  which  could  never  be  wiped 
from  the  memories  of  the  beholders,  though 
it  affected  each  of  them  differently. 

Herb  Heal  involuntarily  gripped  the  loaded 
rifle  which  lay  beside  him,  —  he  was  too  wary 
a  woodsman  to  be  unprepared  for  emergen 
cies  ;  but  he  did  not  cock  it,  for  he  remem 
bered  the  law,  and  the  bargain  which  he  had 
made  about  to-night. 

Cyrus's  eyes  gleamed  like  fires  in  a  face 
pale  from  eagerness,  as  he  strove  in  a  minute 
of  time  to  take  in  every  feature  of  the  mon 
ster  before  him,  from  hoof  to  horn. 
Neal  sat  as  if  paralyzed. 

Dol well,  Dol    lost  his  head   a  bit.     A 

deep,  throaty  gulp,  which  was  a  weak  repro 
duction  of  the  sound  made  by  the  moose,  as 
if  the  boy  and  the  animal  were  sharing  the 
same  throes  of  excitement,  burst  from  him. 
There  was  a  rattle  and  struggle  of  his  vocal 
organs,  which  in  another  second  would  have 
become  a  shout,  had  not  Herb's  masterful 
left  hand  gripped  him.  Its  touch  held  in 


Moose  -  Calling.  227 

check  the  speech  which  Dol  could  no  longer 
control. 

The  moose  was  a  big-  one,  "  about  as  big 
as  they  grow,"  as  the  guide  afterwards  de 
clared.  Under  the  jack-light  he  looked  a 
regular  behemoth.  He  must  have  been  over 
seven  feet  high  at  the  shoulders,  for  he  was 
taller  than  the  tallest  horse  the  boys  had  ever 
seen.  His  black  mane  bristled.  His  antlers 
were  thrown  back.  His  great  nose,  with  its 
dilated  nostrils,  looked  as  if  it  were  drinking 
in  every  scent  of  the  night  world.  His  eyes 
had  a  green  glare  in  them,  as  for  ten  seconds 
he  gazed  at  the  strange  light  which  had  sud 
denly  burst  into  view,  its  silver  radiance  so 
dazzling  him  that  he  saw  not  the  screened 
boat  beneath. 

At  the  rash  noise  which  Dol  made  his  ears 
twitched.  He  splashed  a  step  forward  as  if 
to  investigate  matters,  seeing  which,  Herb 
held  his  Winchester  in  readiness  to  fly  to 
his  shoulder  at  a  moment's  notice.  But 
the  moose  evidently  regarded  the  jack-lamp 
as  a  supernatural,  terrible  phenomenon.  He 
shrank  from  it  as  man  might  shrink  beneath  a 
flaming  heaven. 

With  one  more  despairing  look  right  and 
left  for  that  phantom  cow  which  had  deluded 


228  Camp  and  Trail. 

him,  he  wheeled  around,  and  crashed  back 
into  the  forest,  tearing  away  more  rapidly 
than  he  came. 

"  He's  off  now,  and  Heaven  knows  when 
he'll  stop !  "  said  Herb,  breaking1  the  weird 
spell  of  silence.  "  Not  till  he  reaches  some 
lair  where  nary  a  creature  could  follow  him. 
Well,  boys,  you've  seen  the  grandest  game 
on  this  continent,  the  king  o'  the  woods. 
What  do  you  think  of  him  ? " 

All  tongues  were  loosened  together.  There 
was  a  general  shifting  of  cramped  bodies, 
accompanied  by  a  gust  of  exclamations. 

"  He  was  a  monster !  " 

"  He  was  a  behemoth  !  " 

"  Oh  !  but  you're  a  conjurer,  Herb.  How 
on  earth  did  you  give  such  a  fetching  call  ? " 

"  I  could  never  have  believed  that  those 
sounds  came  from  a  human  throat  and  a  birch- 
bark  horn,  if  I  hadn't  been  sitting  in  the  boat 
with  you  !  " 

When  there  was  a  break  in  the  excited 
chorus,  Herb,  without  answering  the  compli 
ments  to  his  calling  powers,  asked  quietly, — 

"  Didn't  you  think  we'd  lost  him,  boys, 
when  he  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  his 
rush,  and  you  heard  nothing  ?  " 

"  We  just  did,"  answered   Cyrus.     "  That 


Mo  ose  -  Ca  I  ling.  229 

was   the    longest    half-hour   I    ever   put   in. 
What  made  him  do  it?" 

"  I  guess  he  was  kind  o'  criticising  my 
music,"  said  the  guide,  laughing.  "  Mebbe  I 
got  in  a  grunt  or  two  that  wasn't  natural, 
and  the  old  boy  wasn't  satisfied  with  his 
sweetheart's  voice.  He  was  sniffing  the  air, 
and  waiting  to  hear  more.  But  'twasn't  more 
'n  twenty  minutes  before  I  gave  the  second 
call,  though  no  doubt  it  seemed  longer  to 
you.  A  man  must  be  in  good  training  to 
get  the  better  of  a  moose's  ears  and  nose." 

"  I'm  going  to  get  the  better  of  them  be 
fore  I  leave  these  woods  !  "  .cried  Dol,  who 
was  still  puffing  and  gasping  with  intense 
excitement.  "  I'll  learn  to  call  up  a  moose,  if 
I  crack  my  windpipe  in  doing  it." 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Boy  Moose-Caller !  " 
jeered  Cyrus,  with  a  teasing  laugh,  which 
Neal  echoed. 

But  Herb  Heal,  who  had  from  the  begin 
ning  regarded  "  the  kid  of  the  camp  "  with 
favor,  suddenly  became  his  champion. 

"  Don't  let  'em  down  you,  Dol,"  he  said. 
"  I  hate  to  hear  a  youngster,  or  a  man,  '  talk 
fire,'  as  the  Injuns  say,  which  means  brag,  if 
he's  a  coward  or  a  chump  ;  but  I  guess  you 
ain't  either.  Here  we  are  at  camp,  boys  !  I 


230  Camp  and  Trail. 

tell  you  the  home-camp  is  a  pleasant  sort  of 
place,  after  you've  been  out  moose-calling  !  " 
Thereupon  ensued  loud  cheers  for  the 
home-camp,  the  boys  feeling  that  they  were 
letting  off  steam,  and  atoning  for  that  long 
spell  of  silence,  which  had  been  a  positive 
hardship.  In  the  midst  of  an  echoing  hub 
bub  the  boat  was  hauled  up  and  moored,  and 
the  party  reached  their  log  shelter. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HERB'S  YARNS. 

THE  following  day  was  spent  by  our  trio 
in  exploring  the  woods  near  Millinokett 
Lake,  in  listening  to  more  moose-talk,  and  in 
attempting  the  trick  of  calling.  Herb  gave 
them  many  persistent  lessons,  making  the 
sounds  which  he  had  made  on  the  preced 
ing  night,  with  and  without  the  horn,  and 
patiently  explaining  the  varied  language  of 
grunts,  groans,  sighs,  and  roars  in  which  the 
cow-moose  indulges. 

Perhaps  the  woodsman  expended  extra 
pains  on  the  teaching  of  his  youngest  pupil, 
whom  he  had  championed.  And  certainly 
Dol's  own  talent  for  mimicry  came  to  his  aid. 

No   matter  to  what  cause   the   success  was 
231 


232  Camp  and  Trail. 

due,  each  one  allowed  that  Dol  made  a  bril 
liant  attempt  to  get  hold  of  "  the  moose- 
hunter's  secret/'  and  give  a  natural  call. 

The  boy  had  been  a  genius  at  imitating 
the  voices  of  English  birds  and  animals  ; 
many  a  trick  had  he  played  on  his  school 
fellows  with  his  carols  and  howls.  And  his 
proficiency  in  this  line  was  a  good  foundation 
on  which  to  work. 

"  You'll  get  there,  boy,"  said  Herb,  survey 
ing  him  with  approval,  as  he  stood  outside 
the  camp-door  with  the  moose-horn  to  his 
lips.  "  Make  believe  that  there's  a  moose 
on  the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake  now,  and 
give  the  whole  call,  from  start  to  finish." 

Whereupon  Dol  slowly  carried  his  head  to 
left  and  right,  as  he  had  seen  the  guide  do 
on  the  previous  night,  raising  and  lowering 
the  horn  until  it  had  described  an  enormous 
figure  of  eight  in  the  air,  while  he  groaned, 
sighed,  rasped,  and  bellowed  with  a  plain 
tive  intensity  of  expression,  which  caused 
his  brother  and  his  friend  to  shriek  with 
laughter. 

"  You'll  get  there,  Kid, "repeated  the  woods 
man,  with  a  great  triumphant  guffaw.  "  You'll 
be  able  to  give  a  fetching  call  sooner  than 
either  of  the  others.  But  be  careful  how  you 


Herb's  Yarns.  233 

use  the  trick,  or  you'll  be  having  the  breath 
kicked  out  of  you  some  day  by  a  moose's 
fore-feet." 

For  days  afterwards,  the  birch-bark  horn 
was  rarely  out  of  Dol  Farrar's  hands.  The 
boy  was  so  entranced  with  the  new  musical 
art  he  was  mastering,  which  would  be  a  means 
of  communication  between  him  and  the  behe 
moth  of  the  woods,  that  he  haunted  the  edges 
of  the  forest  about  the  clearing,  keeping  aloof 
from  his  brother  and  friend,  practising  un 
ceasingly,  sometimes  under  Herb's  supervis 
ion,  sometimes  alone.  He  learned  to  imitate 
every  sound  which  the  guide  made,  working 
in  touching  quavers  and  inflections  that  must 
tug  at  the  heart-strings  of  any  listening  moose. 
He  learned  to  give  the  call,  squatting  Indian 
fashion,  in  a  very  uncomfortable  position,  be 
hind  a  screen  of  bushes.  He  learned  to  copy, 
not  the  cow's  summons  alone,  but  the  bull's 
short  challenge  too  ;  amd  to  rasp  his  horn 
against  a  tree,  in  imitation  of  a  moose  polish 
ing  its  antlers  for  battle. 

And  now,  for  the  first  time,  Dol  Farrar  of 
Manchester  regarded  his  education  as  com 
plete.  He  was  prouder  of  this  forest  accom 
plishment,  picked  up  in  the  wilds,  than  of  all 
triumphs  over  problems  and  'ologies  at  his 


234  Camp  and 

English  school.  He  had  not  been  a  laggard 
in  study,  either. 

But  the  finishing  of  Dol's  education  had 
one  bad  result.  If  there  happened  to  be  an 
other  moose  travelling  through  the  adjacent 
forests,  he  evidently  thought  that  all  this  ran 
dom  calling  was  too  much  of  a  good  thing, 
had  his  suspicions  aroused,  and  took  himself 
off  to  wilder  solitudes.  Though  the  guide 
tried  his  powers  in  persuasive  summons  every 
night  at  various  calling-places,  he  could  not 
again  succeed  in  getting  an  answer. 

At  last,  on  a  certain  evening,  after  supper, 
a  solemn  camp-council  was  held  around  an 
inspiring  fire,  and  Herb  Heal  suggested  that 
if  his  party  were  really  bent  on  seeing  a  moose 
again,  before  they  turned  their  faces  home 
ward,  they  had  better  rise  early  the  following 
morning,  shoulder  their  knapsacks,  and  set 
out  to  do  a  few  days'  hunting  amid  the  dense 
woods  near  the  base  of  Katahdin. 

"  I  killed  the  biggest  bull-moose  I  ever 
saw,  on  Togue  Ponds,  in  that  region,"  said 
the  guide  meditatively  ;  "  and  I  got  him  in  a 
queer  way.  I  b'lieve  I  promised  to  tell  you 
that  yarn." 

"  Of  course  you  did  !  " 

"  Let's  have  it !  " 


Herb's  Yarns.  235 

"  Go  ahead,  Herb  !     Don't  shorten  it !  " 

Thus  encouraged  by  the  eager  three,  the 
woodsman  began  :  — 

11  It  is  five  years  now,  boys,  since  I  spent 
a  fall  and  winter  trapping  in  them  woods  we 
were  speaking  of —  I  and  another  fellow.  We 
had  two  home-camps,  which  were  our  head 
quarters,  snug  log  shelters,  one  on  Togue 
Ponds,  the  other  on  the  side  of  Katahdin. 
As  sure  as  ever  the  sun  went  down  on  a  Sat 
urday  night,  we  two  trappers  met  at  one  or 
other  of  these  home-camps  ;  though  during 
the  week  we  were  mostly  apart.  For  we  had 
several  lines  of  traps,  which  covered  big  dis 
tances  in  various  directions  ;  and  on  Monday 
morning  I  used  to  start  one  way,  and  my 
chum  another,  to  visit  these.  Generally  it 
took  us  five  or  six  days  to  make  the  rounds 
of  them.  While  we  were  on  our  travels  we'd 
sleep  with  a  blanket  round  us,  under  any  shel 
ter  we  could  rig  up,  —  a  few  spruce-boughs  or 
a  bark  hut.  When  the  snow  came,  we  were 
forced  to  shorten  our  trips,  so  as  to  reach  one 
of  the  home-camps  each  night. 

"  Well,  it  was  early  in  the  season,  one  fine 
fall  evening,  that  I  was  crossing  Togue  Ponds 
in  a  canoe.  I  had  been  away  on  the  tramp 
for  a'most  a  week  ;  and  though  I  had  a  rifle 


236  Camp  and  Trail. 

and  axe  with  me,  I  had  nary  an  ounce  of 
ammunition  left.  All  of  a  sudden  I  caught 
sight  of  a  moose,  feeding  on  some  lily-roots 
in  deep  water.  Jest  at  first  I  was  a  bit 
doubtful  whether  it  was  a  moose  or  not ;  for 
the  creature's  head  was  under,  and  I  could 
only  see  his  shoulders.  I  stopped  paddling. 
I  tried  to  stop  breathing.  Next,  I  felt  like 
jumping  out  of  my  skin ;  for,  with  a  big 
splash,  up  come  a  pair  of  antlers  a  good  five 
feet  across,  dripping  with  water,  and  a'most 
covered  with  green  roots  and  stems,  which 
dangled  from  'em. 

"  Good  land!  'twas  a  queer  sight.  '  Herb 
Heal/  thinks  I,  '  now's  your  chance  !  If  you 
can  only  manage  to  nab  that  moose-head, 
you'll  get  two  hundred  dollars  for  it  at  Green 
ville,  sure  !  '  And  mighty  few  cents  I  had 
jest  then. 

"  I  could  a'most  have  cried  over  my  tough 
luck  in  not  having  one  dose  of  lead  left.  But 
the  bull's  back  was  towards  me.  The  water 
filled  his  ears  and  nose,  so  that  he  couldn't 
hear  or  smell.  And  he  was  having  a  splendid 
tuck-in.  It  was  big  sport  to  hear  him  crunch 
those  lily-roots." 

"  I  should  think  it  was  !  "  burst  out  Cyrus 
enviously.  "  But  did  you  have  the  heart  to 


Herb's  Yarns.  237 

kill  him  in  cold  blood,  in  the  middle  of  his 
meal  ? " 

"  I  did.  I  guess  I  wouldn't  do  it  now  ; 
anyhow,  not  unless  I  was  very  badly  off  for 
food.  But  I  had  an  old  mother  living  at 
Greenville  that  time,"  —  here  there  was  the 
least  possible  tremble  in  the  woodsman's 
voice,  —  "  and  while  I  paddled  alongside  the 
moose,  without  making  a  sound,  I  was  think 
ing  that  the  price  I'd  be  sure  to  get  from 
some  city  swell  for  the  head  would  come  in 
handy  to  make  her  comfortable.  The  crea 
ture  never  suspicioned  danger  till  I  was  close 
to  him,  and  had  my  axe  lifted,  ready  to  strike. 
Then  up  came  his  head.  Out  went  his  fore 
feet.  Over  spun  the  canoe.  There  was  as  big 
a  commotion  as  if  a  whale  was  there. 

"  I  managed  to  keep  behind  the  brute  so 
as  to  dodge  his  kicks  ;  and  gripping  the  axe 
in  one  hand,  I  dug  the  other  into  his  long 
hair.  He  was  mad  scared.  He  started  to 
swim  for  the  opposite  shore,  which  was  about 
half  a  mile  distant,  with  me  in  tow,  snorting 
like  a  locomotive.  As  his  feet  touched  ground 
near  the  bank,  I  jumped  upon  his  back.  With 
one  blow  of  the  axe  I  split  his  spine.  Per 
haps  you'll  think  that  was  awful  cruel,  but  it 
wasn't  done  for  the  glory  of  killing." 


238  Camp  and  Trail. 

"And  what  became  of  the  head  ?  Did  you 
sell  it  ?  "  asked  Dol,  who  was,  as  usual,  the 
first  to  break  a  breathless  silence. 

There  was  no  reply.  Herb  feigned  not  to 
hear. 

"  Did  you  get  two  hundred  dollars  for  the 
head  ?  "  questioned  the  impetuous  youngster 
again,  in  a  higher  key,  his  curiosity  swelling. 

"  I  didn't.      It  was  stole." 

The  answer  was  a  growl,  like  the  growl  of 
a  hurt  animal  whose  sore  has  been  touched. 
The  tone  of  it  was  so  different  from  the 
woodsman's  generally  strong,  happy-go-lucky 
manner  of  speech,  that  Dol  blenched  as  if  he 
had  been  struck. 

"  Who  stole  it  ?  "  he  gasped,  after  a  min 
ute,  scarcely  knowing  that  he  spoke  aloud. 

Unnoticed  in  the  firelight,  Cyrus  clapped  a 
strong  hand  over  the  boy's  mouth,  to  stifle 
further  questions. 

"  Keep  still  !  "  he  whispered. 

But  Herb,  who  was,  as  usual,  perched  upon 
the  "  deacon's  seat,"  leaned  forward,  with  a 
laugh  which  was  more  than  half  a  snarl. 

"  Who  stole  it  ?  "  he  echoed.  "  Why,  the 
other  fellow  —  my  chum  ;  the  man  whom  I 
carried  for  a  mile  on  my  back,  through  a 
snow-heaped  forest,  the  first  time  I  saw  him, 


Herb's  Yarns.  239 

when  I  had  lugged  him  out  of  a  heavy  drift. 
He  stole  it,  Kid,  and  a'most  everything  I 
owned  with  it." 

With  a  savage  kick  of  his  moccasined  foot, 
the  woodsman  suddenly  assaulted  a  blazing 
log.  It  sent  a  shower  of  sparks  aloft,  and 
caused  a  bright  flame  to  shoot,  rocket- like, 
from  the  heart  of  the  fire,  which  showed  the 
guide's  face.  His  fine  eyes  reminded  Cyrus 
of  Millinokett  Lake  when  a  thunder-storm 
broke  over  it.  Their  gray  was  dark  and  trou 
bled  ;  the  black  pupils  seemed  to  shrink,  as 
if  a  tempest  beat  on  them  ;  fierce  flashes  of 
light  played  through  them. 

Muttering  a  half-smothered  oath,  Herb 
flung  himself  off  his  bench,  stamped  across 
the  cabin  to  the  open  camp-door,  and  passed 
into  the  darkness  outside. 

The  boys,  who  had  been  stretched  out  in 
comfortable  positions,  drew  themselves  bolt 
upright,  and  sat  aghast.  They  stared  to 
wards  the  camp-door,  murmuring  disjoint- 
edly.  Into  the  mind  of  each  flashed  a  re 
membrance  of  some  story  which  Doctor  Phil 
had  told  about  a  thieving  partner  who  once 
robbed  Herb  Heal. 

"  You've  stirred  up  more  than  you  bar 
gained  for,  Dol,"  said  Cyrus.  "  I  wish  to 


240  Camp  and  Trail. 

goodness  you  hadn't  been  so  smart  with  your 
questions." 

But  the  words  were  scarcely  spoken  when 
the  guide  was  again  in  their  midst,  with  a 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"  It's  best  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie,  young 
one,"  he  said,  looking  down  reassuringly  on 
Dol,  who  was  feeling  dumfounded.  "  I  guess 
you  all  think  I'm  an  awful  bearish  fellow.  But 
if  you.  had  lived  the  lonely  life  of  a  trapper, 
tramping  each  day  through  the  dark  woods 
till  you  were  leg-weary,  visiting  your  steel 
traps  and  deadfalls,  all  to  get  a  few  furs  and 
make  a  few  dollars  ;  and  turned  up  at  camp 
one  evening  to  find  that  your  partner  had 
skipped  with  every  skin  you  had  procured,  I 
reckon  'twould  take  you  a  plaguy  long  time 
to  get  over  it." 

"  I'm  pretty  sure  it  would,  old  man,"  said 
Cyrus. 

"  And  I  minded  the  loss  of  the  furs  a  sight 
less  than  I  minded  losing  that  moose-head," 
continued  Herb,  taking  his  perch  again  upon 
the  "deacon's  seat."  "  The  hound  took  'em 
all.  Every  woodsman  in  Maine  was  riled 
about  it  at  the  time,  and  turned  out  to  ketch 
him ;  but  he  gave  'em  the  slip.  Now,  boys, 
I've  got  to  feeling  pretty  chummy  with  you. 


Herb's  Yarns.  241 

Cyrus  is  an  old  friend  ;  and,  to  speak  plain,  I 
like  you  Britishers.  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  that  I  bust  up  your  fun  to-night  for 
nothing.  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  yarn  if  you 
want  to  hear  it." 

The  looks  of  the  trio  were  sufficient  assent. 

"All  right,  boys.  Here  goes!  Since  I 
was  a  kid  in  Maine  woods  I've  worked  at 
a'most  everything  that  a  woodsman  can  do. 
Six  year  ago  I  was  a  '  barker '  in  a  lumber- 
camp  on  the  Kennebec  River.  A  '  barker ' 
is  a  man  who  jumps  onto  a  big  tree  after  a 
chopper  has  felled  it,  and  strips  the  bark  off 
with  his  axe,  so  that  the  trunk  can  be  easily 
hauled  over  the  snow.  Well,  it's  pretty  hard 
labor,  is  lumbering.  But  our  camp  always 
got  Sunday  for  rest. 

"  Well,  I  was  prowling  about  in  the  woods 
by  myself  one  Sunday  afternoon,  when  an 
awful  snow-storm  come  on,  a  big  blizzard 
which  staggered  the  stripped  trees  like  as  if 
'twould  tumble  'em  all  down,  and  end  our 
work  for  us.  I  was  bolting  for  camp  as  fast 
as  I  was  able,  when  I  tripped  over  something 
which  was  a'most  covered  over  in  a  heavy 
drift.  *  Great  Scott!'  says  I,  'it's  a  man!' 
And  'twas  too.  He  was  near  dead.  I  hauled 
him  out,  and  set  him  on  his  legs;  but  he 


242  Camp  and  Trail. 

couldn't  walk.  So  I  threw  him  across  my 
shoulders,  same  way  as  I  carry  a  deer.  He 
didn't  weigh  near  as  much  as  a  good  buck, 
for  he  was  little  more'n  a  kid  and  awful  lean. 
But  'twas  dreadful  travelling,  with  the  snow 
half  blinding  and  burying  you.  I  was  plumb 
blowed  when  I  struck  the  camp,  and  pitched 
in  head  foremost. 

"  For  an  hour  we  worked  over  that  stranger 
to  bring  him  round,  and  we  succeeded.  We 
saw  at  once  that  he  was  a  half-breed.  When 
he  could  use  his  tongue,  he  told  us  that  his 
father  was  a  settler,  and  his  mother  a  Penob- 
scot  Indian.  He  was  sick  for  a  spell  and 
wild-like,  then  he  talked  a  lot  of  Indian  jar 
gon  ;  but  when  he  got  back  his  senses,  he 
spoke  English  fust-rate.  Chris  Kemp  he 
said  was  his  name.  And  from  the  start 
the  lumbermen  nicknamed  him  '  Cross-eyed 
Chris ; '  for  his  eyes,  which  were  black  as 
blackberries,  had  a  queer  squint  in  'em. 

"  Well,  in  spite  of  the  squint,  I  took  to 
Chris,  and  he  to  me.  And  the  following 
year,  when  I  decided  to  give  up  lumbering, 
and  take  to  trapping  fur-bearing  animals  in 
the  woods  near  Katahdin,  he  joined  me. 
We  swore  to  be  chums,  to  stick  to  each  other 
through  thick  and  thin,  to  share  all  we  got ; 


Herb's  Yarns.  243 

and  he  made  one  of  his  outlandish  Indian 
signs  to  strengthen  the  oath.  A  fine  way  he 
kept  it  too ! 

"  Now,  if  I'm  too  long-winded,  boys,  say 
so  ;  and  I'll  hurry  up." 

"  No,  no  !     Tell  us  everything." 
"  Spin  it  out  as  long  as  you  can." 
"  We  don't  mind  listening  half  the  night. 
Go  ahead  !  " 

At  this  gust  of  protest  Herb  smiled,  though 
rather  soberly,  and  went  ahead  as  he  was 
bidden. 

"We  made  camp  together  —  him  and  me. 
We  had  two  home-camps  where  I  told  you, 
and  met  *at  the  end  of  each  week,  bringing 
the  skins  we  had  taken,  which  we  stored  in 
one  of  'em.  We  got  along  together  swim 
mingly  for  a  bit.  But  Chris  had  a  weakness 
which  I  had  found  out  long  before.  I  guess 
he  took  it  from  his  mother's  people.  Give 
him  one  drink  of  whiskey,  and  it  stirred  up 
all  the  mud  that  was  in  him.  There's  mud 
in  every  man,  I  s'pose  ;  and  there's  nothing 
like  liquor  for  bringing  it  to  the  surface.  A 
gulp  of  fire-water  changed  Chris  from  an 
honest,  right-hearted  fellow  to  a  crazy  devil. 
This  had  set  the  lumbermen '  against  him. 
But  I  hoped  that  in  the  lonely  woods  where 


244  Camp  and  Trail. 

we  trapped  he  wouldn't  get  a  chance  to  see 
the  stuff.  He  did,  though,  and  when  I 
wasn't  there  to  make  a  fight  against  his  swal 
lowing  it. 

"  It  happened  that  one  week  he  got  back  to 
our  camp  on  Togue  Ponds,  —  where  most  of 
our  stuff  was  stored,  and  where  I  kept  that 
moose-head,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  take  it 
down  to  Greenville,  —  a  day  or  two  sooner'n 
me.  And  the  worst  luck  that  ever  attended 
either  of  us  brought  a  stranger  to  the  camp 
at  the  same  time,  to  shelter  for  a  night.  He 
was  an  explorer,  a  city  swell ;  and  I  guess 
he  didn't  know  much  about  Injuns  or  half- 
breeds,  for  he  gave  Chris  a  little-  bottle  of 
fiery  whiskey  as  a  parting  present.  The  man 
told  me  about  it  afterwards,  and  that  he  was 
kind  o'  scared  when  the  boy  —  for  he  wasn't 
much  more  —  swallowed  it  with  two  gulps, 
and  then  followed  him  into  the  woods,  howl 
ing,  capering,  and  offering  to  sell  him  my 
grand  moose-head,  and  all  the  furs  we  had, 
for  another  drink  of  the  burning  stuff.  I 
guess  that  stranger  felt  pretty  sick  over  the 
mischief  he  had  clone.  He  refused  to  buy 
'em.  But  when  I  got  back  to  camp  next  day, 
to  find  the  skins  gone,  antlers  gone,  Chris 
gone ;  when  I  ran  across  the  traveller  and  fer- 


Herb's  Yarns.  245 

reted  out  his  story,  —  I  knew,  as  well  as  if  I 
seen  it,  that  my  partner  had  skipped  with  all 
my  belongings,  to  sell  'em  or  trade  'em  at 
some  settlement  for  more  liquor.  We  had 
a  couple  of  big  birch  canoes,  —  one  of  'em 
was  missing  too,  —  and  a  river  being  near, 
the  thing  could  be  easy  managed. 

"I'll  allow  that  I  raged  tremendous.  The 
losses  were  bad ;  but  to  be  robbed  by  your 
own  chum,  the  man  you  had  saved  and  stuck 
to,  the  only  being  you  had  said  a  word  to  for 
months,  was  sickening.  I  swore  I'd  shoot 
the  hound  if  I  found  him.  I  spread  the  news 
at  every  camp  and  farm-settlement  through 
the  forest  country,  and  we  had  a  rousing 
hunt  after  the  fellow ;  but  he  gave  us  the  slip, 
though  I  heard  of  him  afterwards  at  a  distant 
town,  where  he  sold  the  furs." 

"  I  suppose  he  left  the  State,"  said  Cyrus. 

"  I  guess  he  did.  But  for  a  big  while  I 
used  to  think  he'd  come  back  to  our  camp 
some  day,  and  let  me  have  it  out  with  him ; 
for  he  wasn't  a  coward,  and  we  had  been 
fast  chums." 

"And  he  didn't?" 

"  Not  as  I  know  of.  The  next  year  I  gave 
up  trapping,  which  was  an  awful  cruel  as 
well  as  a  lonely  business,  and  took  to  moose- 


246  Camp  and  Trail. 

hunting  and  guiding.  I  haven't  been  anear 
the  old  camps  for  ages." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  come  across  him  again 
some  day/'  suggested  Dol,  with  unusual  ti 
midity. 

"P'raps  so,  Kid.  And,  faith,  when  I  think 
of  that,  it  seems  as  if  there  were  two  crea 
tures  inside  o'  me  fighting  tooth  and  claw. 
One  is  all  for  hammering  him  to  a  jelly. 
The  other  is  sort  o'  pitiful,  and  says,  '  Mebbe 
'twasn't  out-an'-out  his  fault.'  Which  of  them 
two'll  get  the  best  of  it,  if  ever  I'm  face  to  face 
with  Cross-eyed  Chris,  I  dunno." 

Cyrus  Garst  rose  suddenly.  He  kicked  the 
camp-fire  to  make  a  blaze,  then  looked  the 
woodsman  fair  in  the  eyes. 

"I  know,  Herb,"  he  said;  "the  spirit  of 
mercy  will  conquer." 

"  Glad  you  think  so !  "  answered  Herb. 
"  But  I  ain't  so  sure.  Sho!  boys,  I've  kept 
you  up  till  near  midnight  with  my  yarns. 
We  must  go  to  roost  quick,  or  you'll  never  be 
fit  to  light  out  for  Katahdin  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


TO    LONELIER    WILDS. 

F3EFORE  daybreak  next  morning  Herb 
J— '  Heal  was  astir.  Apparently  even  a  short 
night's  sleep  had  driven  from  him  all  disturb 
ing  memories.  He  whistled  and  hummed 
softly,  like  the  strong,  hopeful  fellow  he  was, 
controlling  his  notes  so  that  they  should  not 
awaken  his  companions,  while  he  hauled  out 
and  overlooked  the  canvas  for  a  tent,  to  see 
if  it  was  sound.  Next  he  surveyed  the  camp- 
stores,  and  put  up  a  supply  of  flour,  pork, 
and  coffee  in  a  canvas  bag,  enough  for  four 
persons  to  subsist  upon  with  economy  during 
an  excursion  of  six  or  seven  days.  For  he 
knew  that  his  employers  would  follow  his  sug 
gestion,  and  be  eager  to  start  for  the  woods 

247 


248  Camp  and  Trail. 

near  Katahdin  soon  after  they  got  their  eyes 
open. 

He  had  been  doing  his  work  with  a  candle 
held  in  his  brown  fingers  ;  but  as  dawn-light 
began  to  enter  the  cabin,  he  quenched  its 
dingy,  yellow  flicker,  opened  the  camp-door, 
and  surveyed  the  morning  sky. 

"  It'll  be  a  good  day  to  start  out,  I  guess," 
he  muttered.  "  Let's  see,  what  time  is  it?" 

The  stars  had  not  yet  paled,  and  Herb 
forthwith  fell  to  studying  them ;  for  they  were 
his  jewelled  time-piece,  by  which  he  could  tell 
the  hour  so  long  as  they  shone.  Watch  he 
had  none. 

While  he  gazed  aloft  at  the  glinting  specks, 
he  unconsciously  began  to  croon,  in  a  power 
ful  bass  voice,  with  deep  gutturals,  some  words 
which  certainly  weren't  woodsman's  English. 

"  N^loan  pes-saus,  mok  glint  ont-aven, 
Glint  ont-aven,  nosh  morgun" 

"  What  on  earth  is  that  outlandish  thing 
you're  singing,  Herb?"  roared  Neal  Farrar 
from  the  bunk,  awakened  by  the  sounds. 
"  Give  us  that  stave  again  —  do  !  " 

The  guide  started.  He  had  scarcely  been 
aware  of  what  he  was  humming,  and  his  laugh 
was  a  trifle  disconcerted. 


To  Lonelier  Wilds.  249 

"  So  you're  waking  up,  are  ye  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Tain't  time  to  be  stirring-  yet ;  I  ought  to 
be  kicked  for  making"  such  a  row." 

o 

"  But  what's  that  you  were  singing  ?  "  re 
iterated  Neal.  li  The  words  weren't  English, 
and  they  had  a  fine  sort  of  roll." 

"  They're  Injun,"  was  the  answer.  "  I 
guess  'twas  all  the  talking  I  done  last  night 
that  brung  'em  into  my  head.  I  picked  'em 
up  from  that  fellow  I  was  telling  you  about. 
He'd  start  crooning  'em  whenever  he  looked 
at  the  stars  to  find  out  the  hour." 

"  Are  they  about  the  stars  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so.  A  city  man,  who  had  studied 
the  redskins'  language  a  lot,  told  me  they 
meant :  — 

4  We  are  the  stars  which  sing, 
We  sing  with  our  light.'"1 

Then  Herb  chanted  the  two  lines  again  in 
the  original  tongue. 

"There  was  quite  a  lot  more,"  he  said; 
"but  I  can't  remember  it.  I  learned  some 
queer  jargon  from  Chris,  and  how  to  make 
most  of  the  signs  belonging  to  the  Indian 
sign-talk.  The  fellow  had  more  of  his  mother 
than  his  father  in  him.  I  guess  I'd  better 
give  over  jabbering,  and  cook  our  breakfast." 

1  Mr.  Leland's  translation. 


250  Camp  and  Trail. 

It  was  evident  that  Herb  did  not  want  to 
dwell  upon  his  reminiscences.  And  Neal  had 
tact  enough  to  swallow  his  burning  curiosity 
about  all  things  Indian.  He  asked  no  more 
questions,  but  rolled  off  the  fir-boughs,  and 
dressed  himself. 

Cyrus  and  Dol  sprang  up  too.  All  three 
were  soon  busy  helping  forward  preparations 
for  the  start.  They  packed  their  knapsacks 
with  a  few  necessaries;  and  after  a  hearty 
breakfast  had  been  eaten,  —  their  last  meal 
off  moose-steaks  for  a  while,  as  Herb  informed 
them  he  "  could  not  carry  any  fresh  meat 
along,"  —  the  guide's  voice  was  heard  shout 
ing  :  — 

"  Ready,  are  ye,  boys  ?  Got  all  yer  traps  ? 
Here,  Cyrus,  jest  strap  this  pack-basket  on 
my  shoulders.  Now  we're  off!  " 

The  pack  contained  the  tent,  the  camp- 
kettle,  and  frying-pan,  together  with  the  afore 
mentioned  provisions,  a  good  axe,  etc.  It 
was  an  uncomfortable  load,  even  for  a  woods 
man's  shoulders.  But  Herb  strode  ahead 
with  it  jauntily.  And  many  times  during 
that  first  day's  tramp  of  a  dozen  miles,  his 
comrades  —  as  they  trudged  through  rugged 
places  after  him,  spots  where  it  was  hard  to 
keep  one's  perpendicular,  and  feet  sometimes 


To  Lonelier  Wilds.  251 

showed  a  sudden  inclination  to  start  for  the 
sky  —  threw  envious  glances  at  his  tall  fig 
ure,  "  straight  as  an  Indian  arrow,"  his  pow 
erful  limbs,  and  unerring  step.  Even  the 
horny,  capable  hands  came  in  for  a  share  of 
the  admiration. 

"  I  guess  anything  that  got  into  your  grip, 
Herb,  would  find  it  hard  to  get  out  again 
without  your  will,"  said  Cyrus,  studying  the 
knotted  fists  which  held  the  straps  of  the 
pack-basket. 

"  Mebbe  so,"  answered  the  guide  frankly. 
"  I've  a  sort  of  a  trick  of  holding  on  to  things 
once  I've  got  'em.  P'raps  that  was  why  I 
didn't  let  go  of  Chris  in  that  big  blizzard  'till 
I  landed  him  at  camp.  But  I  hope  "  —  here 
Herb's  shoulders  shook  with  heaving  laugh 
ter,  and  the  cooking  utensils  in  his  pack 
jingled  an  accompaniment  —  "  I  hope  I  ain't 
like  a  miserly  fellow  we  had  in  our  lumber- 
camp.  He  was  awful  pious  about  some 
things,  and  awful  mean  about  others.  So 
the  boys  said,  '  he  kept  the  Sabbath  and 
everything  else  he  could  lay  his  hands  upon.' 
He  used  to  get  riled  at  it. 

"  Not  that  I've  a  word  to  say  against  keep 
ing  Sunday,"  went  on  Herb,  in  a  different 
key.  "  Tell  you  what,  out  here  a  fellow 


252  Camp  and  Trail. 

thinks  a  heap  of  his  day  o'  rest,  when  his  legs 
can  stop  tramping,  and  his  mind  get  a  chance 
to  do  some  tall  thinking.  Now,  boys,  we've 
covered  twelve  good  miles  since  we  left  Mil- 
linokett  Lake,  and  you  needn't  go  any  farther 
to-day  unless  you've  a  mind  to.  We  can 
make  camp  right  here,  near  that  stream.  It 
will  be  nice,  cold  drinking-water,  for  it  has 
meandered  down  from  Katahdin." 

He  pointed  to  a  brook  a  little  way  ahead, 
shimmering  in  the  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun, 
of  which  they  caught  stray  peeps  through  the 
gaps  in  an  intervening  wall  of  pines  and  hem 
locks.  A  few  minutes  brought  them  to  its 
brink.  Tired  and  parched  from  their  jour 
ney,  each  one  stooped,  and  quenched  his 
thirst  with  a  delicious,  ice-cold  draught. 

"  Was  there  ever  a  soda-fountain  made 
that  could  give  a  drink  to  equal  that  ?  "  said 
Cyrus,  smacking  his  lips  with  content.  "  But 
listen  to  the  noise  this  stream  makes,  boys. 
I  guess  if  I  were  to  lie  beside  it  for  an  hour, 
I'd  think,  as  the  Greenlanders  do,  that  I 
could  hear  the  spirits  of  the  world  talking 
through  it." 

"  That's  a  mighty  queer  notion,"  answered 
Herb  ;  "and  I  never  knew  as  other  folks  had 
got  hold  of  it.  But,  sure's  you  live !  I've 


To  Lonelier  Wilds.  253 

thought  the  same  thing  myself  lots  o'  times, 
when  I've  slept  by  a  forest  stream.  Who'll 
lend  a  helping  hand  in  cutting  down  boughs 
for  our  fire  and  bed  ?  I  want  to  be  pretty 
quick  about  making  camp.  Then  we'll  be 
able  to  try  some  moose-calling  after  supper." 

At  this  moment  a  peculiar  gulping  noise 
in  Neal's  throat  drew  the  eyes  of  his  compan 
ions  upon  him.  His  were  bright  and  strained, 
peering  at  the  opposite  bank. 

"  Look  !  What  is  it?"  he  gasped,  his  low 
voice  rattling  with  excitement. 

"A  cow-moose,  by  thunder!"  said  Herb. 
"A  cow-moose  and  a  calf  with  her!  Here's 
luck  for  ye,  boys !  " 

One  moment  sooner,  simultaneously  with 
Neal's  gulp  of  astonishment,  there  had 
emerged  from  the  thick  woods  on  the  other 
bank  a  brown,  wild-looking,  hornless  crea 
ture,  in  size  and  shape  resembling  a  big 
mule,  followed  by  a  half-grown  reproduction 
of  herself. 

Her  shaggy  mane  flew  erect,  her  nostrils 
quivered  like  those  of  a  race-horse,  her  eyes 
were  starting  with  mingled  panic  and  de 
fiance. 

A  snort,  sudden  and  loud  as  the  report  of 
a  shot-gun,  made  the  four  jump.  Neal, 


254  Camp  and'  Trail. 

who  was  standing  on  a  slippery  stone  by  the 
brink,  lost  his  balance  and  staggered  forward 
into  the  water,  kicking  up  jets  of  shining 
spray.  The  snort  was  followed  by  a  grunt, 
plaintive,  distracted,  which  sounded  oddly 
familiar,  seeing  that  it  had  been  so  well  imi 
tated  on  Herb's  horn. 

And  with  that  grunt,  the  moose  wheeled 
about  and  fled,  making  the  air  swish  as  she 
cut  through  it,  followed  by  her  young,  her 
mane  waving  like  a  pennon. 

"  Well,  if  that  ain't  bang-up  luck,  I'd  like  to 
know  what  is,"  said  the  guide,  as  he  watched 
the  departure.  "  I  never  s'posed  you'd  get  a 
chance  to  see  a  cow-moose  ;  she's  shyer'n  shy. 
Say !  don't  you  boys  think  that  I've  done  her 
grunt  pretty  well  sometimes?" 

"  That  you  have,"  was  the  general  response. 
"  We  couldn't  tell  any  difference  between  your 
noise  and  the  real  thing." 

"  But  she  wasn't  a  patch  on  the  bull-moose 
in  appearance,"  lamented  Dol. 

"  No  more  she  was,  boy.  Most  female 
forest  creatures  ain't  so  good-looking  as  the 
males  !  And  that's  queer  when  you  think  of 
it,  for  the  girls  have  the  pull  over  us  where 
beauty  is  concerned.  We  ain't  in  it  with 
'em,  so  to  speak." 


To  Lonelier  Wilds.  255 

There  was  a  big  gale  of  laughter  over 
Herb  Heal's  gallant  admiration  for  the  other 
sex,  and  the  sigh  which  accompanied  his  ex 
pression  of  it.  He  joined  in  the  mirth  him 
self,  though  he  walked  off  to  make  camp, 
muttering  :  — 

"  Sho  !  You  city  fellows  think  that  be 
cause  I'm  a  woodsman  I  never  heard  of  love- 
making  in  my  life." 

"  Perhaps  there  is  a  little  girl  at  some  set 
tlement  waiting  for  a  home  to  be  fixed  up 
out  of  guide's  fees,"  retorted  Cyrus. 

And  the  three  shouted  again  for  no  earthly 
reason,  save  that  the  stimulus  of  forest  air 
and  good  circulation  was  driving  the  blood 
with  fine  pressure  through  their  veins,  and 
life  seemed  such  a  glorious,  unfolding  pos 
session  —  full  of  a  wonderful  possible  —  that 
they  must  hold  a  sort  of  jubilee.  * 

Herb,  who  perhaps  in  his  lonely  hours  in 
the  woods  did  cherish  some  vision  such  as 
Cyrus  suggested,  was  so  infected  with  their 
spirit,  that,  as  he  swung  his  axe  with  a  giant's 
stroke  against  a  hemlock  branch,  he  joined  in 
with  an  explosive  :  — 

"  Hurrup  !      Hur-r-r-rup  !  " 

This  startled  the  trio  like  the  bursting  of  a 
bomb,  and  trebled  their  excitement ;  for  their 


256  Camp  and  Trail. 

guide,  when  abroad,  had  usually  the  cautious, 
well-controlled  manner  of  the  still-hunter, 
who  never  knows  what  chances  may  be  lurk 
ing  round  him  which  he  would  ruin  by  an 
outcry. 

"  Quit  laughing,  boys,"  he  said,  recovering 
prudence  directly  he  had  let  out  his  yell. 
"  Quit  laughing,  I  say,  or  we  may  call  moose 
here  till  crack  o'  doom  without  getting  an 
answer.  I  guess  they're  all  off  to  the  four 
winds  a'ready,  scared  by  our  fooling." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 


TREED    BY   A    MOOSE. 

"  I  TOLD  you  so,  boys,"  breathed  the  guide 
1  two  hours  later,  with  an  overwhelming 
sigh  of  regret,  after  he  had  given  his  most 
fetching  calls  in  vain.  "  I  told  you  so. 
There  ain't  anything  bigger'n  a  buck-rabbit 
travelling.  That  tormented  row  we  made 
scared  every  moose  within  hearing." 

Herb  was  standing  on  the  ground,  horn  in 
hand,  screened  by  the  great  shadows  of  a 
clump  of  hemlocks  ;  the  three  were  perched 
upon  branches  high  above  him,  a  safe  post 
of  observation  if  any  moose  had  answered. 

"  You  may  as  well  light  down  now,"  he 
continued,  turning  his  face  up,  though  the 
boys  were  invisible;  "I  ain't  a-going  to  try 

257 


258  Camp  and  Trail. 

any  more  music  to-night.  I  guess  we'll 
stretch  ourselves  for  sleep  early,  to  get  ready 
for  a  good  clay's  work  to-morrow.  An  eight- 
mile  tramp  will  bring  us  to  the  first  heavy 
growth  about  the  foot  of  Katahdin,  and  I'll 
promise  you  a  sight  of  a  moose  there." 

His  companions  dropped  to  earth;  and  the 
four  sought  the  shelter  of  their  tent,  which 
had  been  pitched  a  few  hundred  yards  from 
the  calling-place.  Some  dull  embers  smoul 
dered  before  it ;  for  Herb,  even  while  prepar 
ing  supper,  had  kept  the  camp-fire  very  low, 
lest  any  wandering  clouds  of  smoke  should 
interfere  with  the  success  of  his  calling. 

Now  he  heaped  it  high,  throwing  on  with 
out  stint  withered  hemlock  boughs  and  mas 
sive  logs,  which  were  soon  wrapped  in  a  sheet 
of  flame,  making  an  isle  of  light  amid  a  sur 
rounding  sea  of  impenetrable  darkness. 

Many  times  during  the  night  the  watchful 
fellow  arose  to  replenish  this  fire,  so  that 
there  might  be  no  decrease  in  the  flood  of 
heat  which  entered  the  tent,  and  kept  his 
charges  comfortable.  Once,  while  he  was  so 
engaged,  the  placid  sleepers  whom  he  had 
noiselessly  quitted  were  aroused  to  terror  — 
sudden,  bewildering  night- terror  —  by  a  gasp 
ing  cry  from  his  lips,  followed  by  the  leaping 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  259 

and  rushing  of  some  brute  in  flight,  and  by  a 
screech  which  was  one  defiant  note  of  unut 
terable  savagery. 

"  Good  heavens  !  What's  that  ?  "  said  Cy 
rus. 

"  Is  it  —  can  it  —  could  it  be  a  panther  ?  " 
stammered  Dol. 

"  Get  out! "  answered  Neal  contemptuously. 
"  The  panthers  have  got  out  long  ago,  so 
every  one  says." 

"  A  lynx  !  A  Canada  lynx,  boys,  as  sure 
as  death  and  taxes  !  "  panted  Herb  Heal, 
springing  into  the  tent  on  the  instant,  with  a 
burning  brand  in  his  hand.  "  'Tain't  any  use 
your  tumbling  out,  for  you  won't  see  him. 
He's  away  in  the  thick  of  the  woods  now." 

Cyrus  gurgled  inarticulate  disappointment. 
At  the  first  two  words  he  had  sprung  to  his 
legs,  having  never  encountered  a  lynx. 

"  The  brute  must  have  been  prowling  round 
our  tent,"  went  on  Herb,  his  voice  thick  from 
excitement.  "  He  leaped  past  me  just  as  I 
was  stooping  to  fix  the  fire,  and  startled  me  so 
that  I  guess  I  hollered.  He  got  about  half 
a  dozen  yards  off,  then  turned  and  crouched 
as  if  he  was  going  to  spring  back.  Luckily, 
the  axe  was  lying  by  me,  just  where  I  had 
tossed  it  down  after  chopping  the  last  heap 


260  Camp  and  Trail. 

of  logs.  I  caught  it  up,  and  flung  it  at  him. 
It  struck  him  on  the  side,  and  curled  him  up. 
I  thought  he  was  badly  hurt;  but  he  jumpecj 
the  next  moment,  screeched,  and  made  off. 
A  pleasant  scream  he  has  ;  sounds  kind  o' 
cheerful  at  night,  don't  it  ?  " 

No  one  answered  this  sarcasm  ;  and  Herb 
flung  himself  again  upon  his  boughs,  pulling 
his  worn  blanket  round  him,  determined  not 
to  relinquish  his  night's  sleep  because  a  lynx 
had  visited  his  camp.  The  city  fellows  sensi 
bly  tried  to  follow  his  example ;  but  again  and 
again  one  of  them  would  shake  himself,  and 
rise  stealthily,  convinced  that  he  heard  the 
blood-curdling  screech  ringing  through  the 
silent  night. 

It  was  nearly  morning  before  fatigue  at  last 
overmastered  every  sensation,  and  the  three 
fell  into  an  unbroken  sleep,  which  lasted  until 
the  sun  was  high  in  the  sky.  When  they 
awoke,  their  sense  of  smell  was  the  first  sense 
to  be  tickled.  Fragrant  odors  of  boiling  cof 
fee  were  floating  into  the  tent.  One  after 
another  they  scrambled  up,  threw  on  their 
coats,  and  hurried  out  to  find  their  guide 
kneeling  by  the  camp-fire  on  the  very  spot 
from  which  he  had  hurled  his  axe  at  the  lynx 
a  few  hours  before.  But  now  his  right  hand 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  261 

held  a  green  stick,  on  which  he  was  toasting 
some  slices  of  pork  into  crisp,  appetizing 
curls. 

"  'Morning,  boys  !  "  he  said,  as  the  trio  ap 
peared.  "  Hope  your  early  rising  won't  opset 
ye  !  If  you  want  to  dip  your  faces  in  the 
stream,  do  it  quick,  for  these  dodgers  are 
cooked." 

The  "dodgers"  were  the  familiar  flapjacks. 
Herb  set  down  his  stick  as  he  spoke  to  turn 
a  batch  of  them,  which  were  steaming  on  the 
frying-pan,  tossing  them  high  in  air  as  he  did 
so,  with  a  dexterous  turn  of  his  wrist. 

The  boys  having  performed  hasty  ablutions 
in  the  stream,  devoted  themselves  to  their 
breakfast  with  a  hearty  will.  There  was  little 
leisure  for  discussing  the  midnight  visit  of  the 
lynx,  or  for  anything  but  the  joys  of  satisfy 
ing  hunger,  and  taking  in  nutrition  for  the 
day's  tramp,  as  Herb  was  in  a  hurry  to  break 
camp,  and  start  on  for  Katahdin.  The  morn 
ing  was  very  calm  ;  there  seemed  no  chance 
of  a  wind  springing  up,  so  the  evening  would 
probably  be  a  choice  one  for  moose-calling. 

In  half  an  hour  the  band  was  again  on  the 
march,  the  business  of  breaking  camp  being 
a  swift  one.  The  tent  was  on  Herb's  shoul 
ders  ;  and  naught  was  left  to  mark  the  visit 


262  Camp  and  Trail. 

of  man  to  the  humming  stream  but  a  bed  of 
withering  boughs  on  which  the  lynx  might 
sleep  to-night,  and  a  few  dying  embers  which 
the  guide  had  thrashed  out  with  his  feet. 

No  halt  was  made  until  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  Then  Herb  Heal  came  to  a  stand 
still  on  the  edge  of  a  wide  bog.  It  lay  be 
tween  him  and  what  he  called  the  "  first 
heavy  growth  ;  "  that  is,  the  primeval  forest, 
unthinned  by  axe  of  man,  which  at  certain 
points  clothes  the  foot  of  Katahdin. 

The  great  mountain,  dwelling-place  of  Pa- 
molah,  cradle  of  the  flying  Thunder  and  flash 
ing  Lightning,  which  according  to  one  Indian 
legend  are  the  swooping  sons  of  the  Moun 
tain  Spirit,  now  towered  before  the  travellers, 
its  base  only  a  mile  distant. 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  make  camp  right 
here,"  said  Herb,  surveying  the  bog  and  then 
the  firm  earth  on  which  he  stood.  "  We  may 
travel  a  longish  ways  farther,  and  not  strike 
such  a  fair  camping-ground,  unless  we  go  on 
up  the  side  of  the  mountain  to  that  old  home- 
camp  I  was  telling  you  about,  which  we  built 
when  we  were  trapping.  I  guess  it's  stand 
ing  yet,  and  'twould  be  a  snug  shelter;  but 
we'd  have  a  hard  pull  to  reach  it  this  even 
ing.  What  d'ye  say,  boys  ?  " 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  263 

"  I  vote  for  pitching  the  tent  right  here," 
answered  Cyrus. 

The  English  boys  were  of  the  same  mind, 
and  the  guide  forthwith  unstrapped  his  heavy 
pack-basket.  As  he  hauled  forth  its  contents, 
and  strewed  them  on  the  ground,  the  first 
article  which  made  its  appearance  was  the 
moose-horn  ;  it  had  been  carefully  stowed  in 
on  top.  Dol  snatched  it  up  as  a  dog  might 
snatch  a  bone,  and  touched  it  with  longing 
in  every  finger-tip. 

"There's  one  bad  thing  about  this  place," 
grumbled  Herb  presently,  surveying  the  land 
scape  wherever  his  eye  could  travel,  "  there 
isn't  a  pint  of  drinking-water  to  be  seen. 
There  may  be  pools  here  and  there  in  that 
bog;  but,  unless  we  want  to  keel  over  before 
morning,  we'd  better  let  'em  alone.  Say  ! 
could  a  couple  of  you  fellows  take  the  camp- 
kettle,  and  cruise  about  a  bit  in  search  of  a 
spring  ?  " 

"  I  volunteer  for  the  job  !  "  cried  Dol  in 
stantly,  with  the  light  of  some  sudden  idea 
shining  like  a  sunburst  in  his  face. 

"  You  don't  budge  a  step,  old  man,  unless 
I  go  with  you,"  said  Cyrus.  "  Not  much  ! 
I  don't  want  to  patrol  the  forests  like  a  luna 
tic  for  five  mortal  hours  in  search  of  you,  and 


264  Camp  and  Trail. 

then  find  you  roasting  your  shins  by  some 
other  fellow's  camp-fire.  One  little  hide-and- 
seek  game  of  that  kind  was  enough." 

"Well!  the  fact  that  I  did  bring  up  by 
Doc's  camp-fire  shows  that  I  am  able  to  take 
care  of  myself.  If  I  get  into  scrapes,  I  can 
wriggle  out  of  them  again,"  maintained  the 
kid  of  the  camp,  with  a  brazen  look,  while  his 
eyes  showed  flinty  sparks,  caused  by  the  in 
spiring  purpose  hidden  behind  them,  which 
had  little  to  do  with  water-carrying. 

"  Why  can't  you  both  go  without  any  more 
palaver?"  suggested  Herb,  as  he  started  away 
towards  a  belt  of  young  firs  to  cut  stakes  for 
the  tent.  "  Cruise  straight  across  the  bog, 
mark  your  track  by  the  bushes  as  you  go 
'long,  don't  get  into  the  woods  at  all,  and 
'twill  be  plain  sailing.  I  guess  you'll  strike  a 
spring  before  very  long." 

Cyrus  caught  up  the  camp-kettle,  and 
stepped  out  briskly  over  the  springy,  spongy 
ground.  Dol  Farrar  followed  him.  The  two 
were  half-way  across  the  bog  before  the  elder 
noticed  that  the  younger  was  carrying  some 
thing.  It  was  the  moose-horn. 

"  If  we  run  across  any  moose-signs,  I'm 
going  to  try  a  call,"  said  Dol,  his  strike-a 
light  eyes  fairly  blazing  while  he  disclosed 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  265 

his  purpose.  "You  may  laugh,  Cy,  and  call 
me  a  greenhorn;  but  I  bet  you  I'll  get  an  an 
swer,  at  least  if  there's  a  bull-moose  within 
two  miles." 

"  That's  pretty  cheerful,"  retorted  the  Bos 
ton  man  ;  "  especially  as  neither  of  us  has 
brought  a  rifle.  Mr.  Moose  may  be  at  home, 
and  give  you  an  answer ;  but  there's  no 
telling  what  sort  of  temper  he'll  be  in." 

"  I  left  my  Winchester  leaning  against  a 
tree  on  the  camping-ground,"  said  the  would- 
be  caller  regretfully.  "  But  you  know  you 
wouldn't  fire  on  him,  Cy,  unless  he  came  near 
making  mince-meat  of  us.  If  he  should  charge, 
we  could  make  a  dash  for  the  nearest  trees. 
Let's  risk  it  if  we  run  across  any  tracks  !  " 

"And  in  the  meantime,  Herb  will  be  won 
dering  where  we  are,  vowing  vengeance  on 
us,  and  waiting  for  the  kettle  while  we're 
waiting  for  the  moose,"  argued  Garst.  "  It 
won't  do,  Chick.  Give  it  up  until  later  on. 
We  undertook  the  job  of  finding  water,  and 
we're  bound  to  finish  that  business  first." 

"  If  I  wait  until  later  on,  I  may  wait  for 
ever,"  was  the  boy's  gloomy  protest.  "  To 
night,  when  Herb  is  there,  Neal  and  you  will 
just  sit  on  me,  and  be  afraid  of  my  making  a 
wrong  sound,  and  spoiling  the  sport. 


266  Camp  and  Trail. 

"And  I  know  we'll  see  moose-tracks  before 
we  get  back  to  camp  !  "  wound  up  the  young 
pleader  passionately.  "  I've  been  working 
up  to  it  all  day.  I  mean  I've  felt  as  if  some 
thing  —  something  fine  —  was  going  to  hap 
pen,  which  would  make  a  ripping  story  for  the 
Manchester  fellows  when  we  go  home.  Do 
let  me  have  one  chance,  Cy,  —  one  fair  and 
honest  chance  !  " 

There  was  such  a  tremendous  force  of  de 
sire  working  through  the  English  boy  that  it 
set  his  blood  boiling,  and  every  bit  of  him  in 
motion.  His  eyes  were  afire,  his  eyelids  shut 
and  opened  with  their  quick  snap,  his  lips 
moved  after  he  had  finished  speaking,  his 
fingers  twitched  upon  the  moose-horn. 

He  was  a  picture  of  heart-eagerness  which 
Cyrus  could  not  resist,  though  he  shook  with 
laughter. 

"  I'll  take  mighty  good  care  that  the  next 
time  I  go  to  find  water  for  the  camp-supper,  I 
don't  take  a  crank  with  me,  who  has  gone  mad 
on  moose-calling,"  he  said.  "  See  here  !  If 
we  do  come  across  moose-signs,  I'll  get  under 
cover,  and  give  you  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
call  and  listen  for  an  answer —  not  a  second 
longer.  Now  stop  thinking  about  this  fad, 
and  keep  your  eyes  open  for  a  spring." 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  267 

But,  unfortunately,  this  seemed  to  be  a 
thirsty  and  tantalizing  land  for  travellers. 
The  soft  sod  under  their  feet  oozed  moist 
ure  ;  slimy,  stagnant  bog-pools  appeared,  but 
not  a  drop  of  pure,  gushing  water,  to  which 
a  parched  man  dare  touch  his  lips. 

They  crossed  the  wide  extent  of  bog, 
Cyrus  breaking  off  stunted  bushes  here  and 
there  to  mark  his  pilgrimage  ;  they  reached 
the  dense  timber-growth  at  the  base  of  the 
mountain,  longing  for  the  sight  of  a  spring 
as  eagerly  as  ever  pilgrims  yearned  to  be 
hold  a  healing  well  ;  but  their  search  was 
unsuccessful. 

Decidedly  nonplussed,  Dol  all  the  time 
keeping  one  eye  on  the  lookout  for  water 
and  the  other  for  moose-signs,  they  took 
counsel  together,  and  determined  to  "  cruise  " 
to  the  right,  skirting  the  foot  of  Katahdin, 
hoping  to  find  a  gurgling,  rumbling  moun 
tain-torrent  splashing  down.  Having  trav 
elled  about  half  a  mile  in  this  new  direction, 
with  the  giant  woods  which  they  dared  not 
enter  rising  like  an  emerald  wall  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  dreary  bog-land  on  the  other, 
they  at  last,  when  patience  was  failing,  came 
to  a  change  in  the  landscape. 

The  desired  water  was  not  in  view  yet ;  but 


268  Camp  and  Trail. 

the  bog  gave  way  to  fairer,  firmer  ground, 
covered  with  waving  grasses,  studded  with 
rising  knolls,  and  having  no  timber  growth, 
save  stray  clumps  of  birches  and  hemlocks, 
several  hundred  yards  apart. 

"Now,  this  is  jolly!"  exclaimed  Dol.  "This 
looks  a  little  bit  like  an  English  lawn,  only 
I'm  afraid  it's  not  a  likely  place  for  moose- 
tracks.  But  I'm  glad  to  be  out  of  that 
beastly  bog." 

"  Confusion  to  your  moose-tracks,"  ejacu 
lated  Cyrus,  half  exasperated.  "  I  wish  we 
could  find  a  well.  That  would  be  more  to 
the  purpose.  Listen,  Dol,  do  you  hear  any 
thing  ? " 

"I  hear  —  I  hear  —  'pon  my  word  !  I  do 
hear  the  bubbling  and  tinkling  of  water 
somewhere  !  Where  on  earth  is  it  ?  Oh  !  I 
know.  It  comes  from  that  knoll  over  there 
—  the  one  with  the  bushes." 

Dol  Farrar,  as  he  finished  his  jerky  sen 
tences,  pointed  to  an  eminence  which  was 
two  or  three  hundred  yards  from  where  they 
stood,  and  a  like  distance  from  the  wall  of 
forest. 

"Well!  It's  about  time  we  struck  some 
thing  at  last,"  grumbled  Garst.  "  Catch  me 
ever  coming  on  a  water  pilgrimage  again  ! 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  269 

I'll  let  Herb  fill  his  own  kettle  in  future. 
Now,  I  believe  that  fellow  could  smell  a 
spring." 

"Just  as  I  smelt  this  one ! "  exclaimed 
Dol  triumphantly.  "  I  told  you  'twas  on  the 
side  of  the  knoll.  And  here  it  is  !  " 

"  Bravo,  Chick!  You've  got  good  ears,  if 
you  are  crazy  upon  one  subject." 

And  so  speaking,  Cyrus,  with  a  chuckle  of 
joy,  unslung  the  tin  drinking-cup  which  hung 
at  his  belt,  filled  and  refilled  it,  drinking  long, 
inspiriting  draughts  before  he  prepared  to  fill 
the  camp-kettle. 

"The  best  water  I  ever  tasted,  Dol!"  he 
exclaimed,  smacking  his  lips.  "  It's  ice-cold. 
There's  not  much  of  it,  but  it  has  quality,  if 
not  quantity." 

The  long-sought  well  was,  in  truth,  a  tiny 
one.  It  came  bubbling  up,  clear  and  pellucid, 
from  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  showed  its 
laughing  face  amid  a  cluster  of  bushes  — 
which  all  bent  close  to  look  at  it  lovingly  — 
half-way  up  the  knoll.  A  wee  stream  trickled 
down  from  it,  —  dribble — dribble  —  a  rivulet 
that  had  once  been  twice  its  present  size, 
judging  from  the  wide  margin  of  spattered 
clay  at  each  side. 

Dol   had  been   following  his  companion's 


270  Camp  and  Trail. 

example,  and  drinking  joyfully  before  think 
ing  of  aught  else.  When  the  moment  came 
for  him  to  straighten  his  back,  and  rise  upon 
his  legs,  instead  of  this  natural  proceeding, 
he  suddenly  crouched  close  to  the  ground, 
his  breath  coming  in  quick  puffs,  his  eyes 
dilating,  a  froth  of  excitement  on  his  lips. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  staring  at  ?  "  asked 
Cyrus.  "  You  look  positively  crazy." 

For  answer,  the  English  boy  shot  up  from 
his  lowly  posture,  seized  his  companion  by 
the  arm,  making  him  drop  the  camp-kettle, 
which  he  was  just  filling,  and  forced  him  to 
scan  the  soft  clay  by  the  rivulet. 

6 '  Look  there  —  and  there  !"  gurgled  Dol, 
his  voice  sounding-  as  if  he  was  being  choked 

o  o 

by  suppressed  hilarity.  "  I  told  you  we'd  find 
them,  and  you  didn't  believe  me !  Aren't 
those  moose-tracks?  They're  not  deer-tracks, 
anyhow ;  they're  too  big.  I  may  be  a  green 
horn,  but  I  know  that  much." 

"They  are  moose-tracks,"  Cyrus  answered 
slowly,  almost  unbelievingly,  though  the  evi 
dence  was  before  him.  "They  certainly  are 
moose-tracks,"  he  repeated,  "and  very  recent 
ones  too.  A  moose  has  been  drinking  here, 
perhaps  not  half  an  hour  ago.  He  can't  be 
far  away." 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  271 

Garst  was  now  warming  into  excitement 
himself.  His  bass  tones  became  guttural  and 
almost  inarticulate,  while  he  lowered  them  to 
prevent  their  travelling.  On  the  reddish  clay 
at  his  feet  were  foot-marks  very  like  the  prints 
of  a  large  mastiff.  He  studied  them  one  by 
one,  even  tracing  the  outline  with  his  fore 
finger. 

"  Then  I'm  going  to  call,"  whispered  Dol, 
his  words  tremulous  and  stifled.  "  Lie  low, 
Cy  !  You  promised  you'd  give  me  a  fair 
chance  ;  you'll  have  to  keep  your  word." 

"  I'll  do  it  too,"  was  the  answering  whisper. 
"  But  let's  get  higher  up  on  the  knoll,  behind 
those  big  bushes  at  the  top.  And  listen, 
Dol,  if  a  moose  makes  a  noise  anywhere  near, 
we  must  scoot  for  the  trees  before  he  comes 
out  from  cover.  I've  got  to  answer  to  your 
father  for  you." 

It  was  an  intense  moment  in  Dol  Farrar's 
life  ;  sensation  reached  its  highest  pitch,  as 
he  crouched  low  behind  a  prickly  screen,  put 
the  birch-bark  horn  to  his  mouth,  and  slowly 
breathed  through  it  with  the  full  power  of  his 
young  lungs,  marvellously  strengthened  by 
the  forest  life  of  past  weeks. 

There  was  a  minute's  interval  while  he 
removed  it  acrain,  and  drew  in  all  the  air 


272  Camp  and  Trail. 

he  could  contain.  Then  a  call  rose  upon  the 
evening  air,  so  touching,  so  plaintive,  with 
such  a  rising,  quavering  impatience  as  it 
surged  out  towards  the  woods,  —  whither  the 
boy-caller's  face  was  turned,  —  that  Cyrus 
could  scarcely  suppress  a  "  Bravo  !  " 

The  summons  died  away  in  a  piteous  grunt. 
A  second  time  the  call  rose  and  fell.  On  the 
third  repetition  it  broke  off,  as  usual,  in  an 
abrupt  roar,  which  seemed  to  strike  the  tops 
of  the  giant  trees,  and  boom  among  them. 

A  froth  was  on  Dol  Farrar's  lips,  his  eyes 
were  reddened,  he  puffed  hard  through  spread 
nostrils,  like  a  young  horse  which  has  been 
trying  its  mettle  for  the  first  time,  as  he  low 
ered  that  moose-horn,  lifted  his  head,  and 
cocked  his  ears  to  listen. 

Two  soundless  minutes  passed.  Dol,  who, 
if  he  had  mastered  the  hunter's  call,  had  cer 
tainly  not  mastered  his  patience,  put  the  bark- 
trumpet  again  to  his  lips,  determined  to  try 
the  effect  of  a  surpassingly  expressive  grunt. 

But  he  never  executed  this  false  move 
ment,  which  would  have  given  away  the  trick 
at  once. 

A  bellow  —  a  short,  snorting,  challenging 
bellow  —  burst  the  silence,  coming  from  the 
very  edge  of  the  woods.  It  brought  Cyrus 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  273 

to  his  feet  with  a  jump.  It  so  startled  the 
ambitious  moose-caller,  that,  in  rising1  hur 
riedly  from  his  squatting  position,  he  lost  his 
balance,  and  rolled  over  and  over  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  knoll,  smashing  the  horn  into  a 
hundred  pieces. 

He  picked  himself  up  unhurt,  but  with  a 
sensation  as  if  all  the  bells  in  Christendom 
were  doing  a  jumbled  ringing  in  his  head. 
And  loud  above  this  inward  din  he  heard 
the  sound,  so  well  remembered,  as  of  an  axe 
striking  repeatedly  against  a  tree,  the  terri 
ble  chopping  noises  of  a  bull-moose,  not  two 
hundred  yards  away. 

No  sooner  had  he  scrambled  to  his  legs, 
than  Garst  was  at  his  side,  gripping  his  arm, 
and  forcing  him  forward  at  a  headlong  run. 

"  You've  done  it  this  time  with  a  ven 
geance!  "  bawled  the  Bostonian.  "  He's  com 
ing  for  us  straight !  And  we  without  our 
rifles  !  The  trees  !  The  trees  !  It's  our  only 
chance ! " 

With  the  belling  still  in  his  head,  and  so 
bewildered  by  his  terrible  success  that  he  felt 
as  if  his  senses  were  shooting  off  hither  and 
thither  like  rockets,  leaving  him  mad,  Dol 
nevertheless  ran  as  he  had  never  run  before, 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  his  comrade,  dash- 


274  Camp  and  Trail. 

ing  wildly  for  a  clump  of  hemlocks  over  a 
hundred  yards  distant.  Yet,  for  the  life  of 
him,  he  could  not  help  glancing  back  once 
over  his  shoulder,  to  see  the  creature  which 
he  had  humbugged,  luring  it  from  its  forest 
shelter,  and  which  now  pursued  him. 

The  moose  was  charging  after  them  full 
tilt,  gaining  rapidly  too,  his  long  thin  legs, 
enormous  antlers,  broad,  upreared  nose,  and 
the  green  glare  in  his  starting  eyes,  making 
him  look  like  some  strange  animal  of  a 
former  earth.  Dol  at  last  trembled  with 
actual  fear.  He  gave  a  shuddering  leap,  and 
forced  his  legs,  which  seemed  threatened 
with  paralysis,  to  wilder  speed. 

"  Climb  up  that  hemlock  !  Get  as  high  as 
you  can  !  "  shrieked  Cyrus,  stopping  to  give 
him  an  upward  shove  as  they  reached  the 
first  friendly  trunk. 

Dol  obeyed.  Gasping  and  wild-eyed,  he 
dug  his  nails  into  the  bark,  clambering  up 
somehow  until  he  reached  a  forked  branch 
about  eight  feet  from  the  ground.  Here 
strength  failed.  He  could  only  cling  dizzily, 
feeling  that  he  hung  between  life  and  death. 

The  moose  was  now  snorting  like  a  war- 
horse  beneath.  The  brute  stood  off  for  a 
minute,  then  charged  the  hemlock  furiously, 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  275 

and  butted  it  with  his  antlers  till  it  shook  to 
its  roots,  the  sharp  prongs  of  those  terrible 
horns  coming  within  half  an  inch  of  Dol's 
feet. 

With  a  gurgle  of  horror  the  boy  tried  to 
reach  a  higher  limb,  and  succeeded  ;  for  at 
the  same  moment  a  timely  shout  encouraged 
him.  Cyrus  was  bawling  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  from  a  tree  ten  feet  distant :  — 

"  Are  you  all  right,  Dol  ?  Don't  be  scared. 
Hold  on  like  grim  death,  and  we  can  laugh 
at  the  old  termagant  now." 

o 

"  I'm  —  I'm  all  right,"  sang  out  Dol,  though 
his  voice  shook,  as  did  every  twig  of  his  hem 
lock,  which  the  moose  was  assaulting  again. 
"  But  he's  frantic  to  get  at  me." 

"  Never  mind.  He  can't  do  it,  you  know. 
Only  don't  you  go  turning  dizzy  or  losing 
your  balance.  Ha !  you  old  spindle-legged 
monster,  stand  off  from  that  tree.  Take  a 
turn  at  mine  now,  for  a  change.  You  can't 
shake  me  down,  if  you  butt  till  midnight." 

Garst's  last  sentences  were  hurled  at  the 
moose.  The  Bostonian,  having  reached  a 
safe  height,  thrust  his  face  out  from  his  screen 
of  branches,  waving  first  an  arm,  and  then  a 
leg,  at  the  besieging  foe,  hoping  that  the 
force  of  those  battering  antlers  would  be  di- 


276  Camp  and  Trail. 

rected  against  his  hemlock,  so  that  his  friend's 
nerves  might  get  a  chance  to  recover. 

The  ruse  succeeded.  The  moose,  reminded 
that  there  was  a  second  enemy,  charged  the 
other  tree ;  stood  off  for  a  minute  to  get 
breath,  then  charged  it  again,  snorting,  bel 
lowing,  and  knocking  his  jaws  together  with 
a  crunching,  chopping  noise. 

"  Ha!  that's  how  he  makes  the  row  like  a 
man  with  an  axe  — by  hammering  his  jaws  on 
each  other.  Well,  well !  but  this  is  a  regular 
picnic,  Dol,"  sang  out  Cyrus  jubilantly,  caring 
nothing  for  the  shocks,  and  forgetting  camp, 
water,  peril,  everything,  in  his  joy  at  getting 
a  chance  to  leisurely  study  the  creature  he 
had  come  so  far  to  visit. 

"  I  owe  you  something  for  this,  little  man  !  " 
he  carolled  on  in  triumph,  as  he  watched 
every  wild  movement  of  the  moose.  "  This 
is  a  show  we'll  only  see  once  in  our  lives. 
It's  worth  a  hundred  dollars  a  performance. 
Butt  and  snort  till  you're  tired,  you  'Awful  Jab- 
berwock  ! '  "  —  this  to  the  bull-moose.  "  We've 
come  hundreds  of  miles  to  see  you,  and  the 
more  you  carry  on  the  better  we'll  be 
pleased." 

Indeed,  the  wrathful  king  of  forests  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  cut  short  his  pantomime.  He 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  277 

ramped  and  raged,  tearing  from  one  tree  to 
another,  expending  paroxysms  of  force  in 
vain  attempts  to  overturn  one  or  the  other  of 
them.  The  ground  seemed  to  shake  under 
his  thundering  hoofs.  His  eyes  were  full  of 
green  fire  ;  his  nostrils  twitched ;  the  black 
tassel  or  "  bell "  hanging  from  his  shaggy 
throat  shook  with  every  angry  movement; 
his  muffle,  the  big  overhanging  upper  lip, 
was  spotted  with  foam. 

As  he  gulped,  grunted,  snorted,  and  roared, 
his  uncouth,  guttural  noises  made  him  seem 
more  than  ever  like  a  curious  creature  of 
earth's  earliest  ages. 

44  We  came  pretty  near  to  being  goners, 
Dol,  I  tell  you  !  "  carolled  Cyrus  again  from 
his  high  perch  in  the  hemlock,  carrying  on  a 
by-play  with  the  enemy  between  each  sen 
tence.  "  How  in  the  name  of  wonder  did  you 
manage  such  a  call  ?  It  would  have  moved 
the  heart-strings  of  any  moose.  I  was  lying 
flat,  you  know,  peeping  through  a  little  gap 
in  the  bushes,  and  you  had  scarcely  taken  the 
horn  from  your  mouth  when  I  saw  the  old 
fellow  come  stamping  out  of  the  woods. 
My !  wasn't  he  a  sight  ?  He  stood  for  a 
minute  looking  about  for  the  fancied  cow ; 
then  he  bellowed,  and  started  towards  the 


278  Camp  and  Trail. 

knoll.  I  knew  we  had  better  run  for  our 
lives.  As  soon  as  he  saw  us  he  gave  chase." 

"  And  '  the  fancied  cow  '  should  go  tum 
bling  down  the  knoll  like  a  rolling  jackass, 
and  smash  that  grand  horn  to  bits !  "  lamented 
Dol,  who  now  sat  serenely  on  his  bough,  with 
a  firm  clasp  of  the  hemlock  trunk,  and  a  reck 
less  enjoyment  of  the  situation  which  far  sur 
passed  his  companion's. 

Cyrus  began  to  have  an  occasional  twinge 
of  uneasiness  about  the  possible  length  of  the 
siege,  after  his  first  exuberance  subsided;  but 
the  younger  boy,  his  short  terror  overcome, 
had  no  misgivings.  He  coquetted  with  the 
moose  through  a  thick  screen  of  foliage,  shook 
the  branches  at  him,  gibed  and  taunted  him, 
enjoying  the  extra  fury  he  aroused. 

But  suddenly  the  old  bull,  having  kept  up 
his  wild  movements  for  nearly  an  hour,  re 
solved  on  a  change  of  tactics.  He  stood 
stock-still  and  lowered  his  head. 

"  Goodness !  He  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  '  stick  us  out !  '  "  gasped  Cyrus. 

"What's  that?"  said  Dol. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  He's  going  to  lay  siege 
in  good  earnest  —  wait  till  we're  forced 
to  come  down.  Here's  a  state  of  things ! 
We  can't  roost  in  these  trees  all  night." 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  279 

The  hemlocks  were  throwing1  ever-length 
ening  shadows  on  the  grass.  A  slow  eclipse 
was  stealing  over  everything.  The  motion 
less  moose  became  an  uncouth  black  shape. 
Garst  muttered  uneasily.  His  fingers  tingled 
for  his  rifle  —  a  very  unusual  thing  with  him. 
His  eyes  peered  through  the  creeping  dark 
ness  in  puzzled  search  for  some  suggestion, 
some  possibility  of  escape. 

"  If  it  were  only  myself!  "  he  whispered,  as 
if  talking  to  his  hemlock.  "  If  it  were  only 
myself,  I  wouldn't  care  a  pin.  Twould  do  me 
no  great  harm  to  perch  here  for  hours.  But 
an  English  youngster,  on  his  first  camping- 
trip  !  Why,  the  chill  of  a  forest  night  might 
ruin  him.  He  wouldn't  howl  or  make  a  fuss, 
for  both  those  Farrar  boys  have  lots  of  grit, 
but  he'd  never  get  over  it.  Dol !  "  he  wound 
up,  raising  his  voice  to  a  sharp  pitch.  "  Say, 
Dol,  I'm  going  to  try  a  shout  for  help.  Herb 
must  be  getting  anxious  about  us  by  this 
time.  If  we  could  once  make  him  hear,  he 
could  try  some  trick  to  lure  this  old  cur 
mudgeon  away,  or  creep  up  and  shoot  him. 
Something  must  be  done." 

Fetching  a  deep  breath,  Cyrus  sent  a  dis 
tance-piercing  "  Coo-hoo  !  "  ringing  through 
the  night-air.  He  followed  it  with  another. 


280  Camp  and  Trail. 

But,  so  far  as  he  could  hear,  the  hails 
fetched  no  answer,  save  from  the  moose- 
jailer.  The  brute  was  stirred  into  a  fresh 
tantrum  by  the  noise.  He  charged  the  hem 
locks  once  more,  butted  and  shook  them  like 
a  veritable  demon. 

When  his  paroxysm  had  subsided,  and  he 
stood  off  to  get  breath,  Garst  hailed  again. 

Glad  sound  !  An  answer  this  time  !  First, 
a  shrill,  long  "  Coo-hoo !  "  Next,  Herb's  voice 
was  heard  pealing  from  far  away  in  the  bog : 
"What's  up,  boys?  Where  in  the  world  are 
you?" 

"Here  in  the  trees --treed  by  a  bull- 
moose  !  "  yelled  Cyrus.  "  He's  the  maddest 
old  monster  you  ever  saw.  Could  you  coax 
him  off,  or  sneak  up  and  shoot  him  ?  He 
means  to  keep  us  prisoners  all  night." 

There  was  no  wordy  answer.  But  pres 
ently  the  treed  heroes  heard  an  odd,  bird- 
like  whistle.  Dol  thought  it  came  from  a 
feathered  creature ;  his  more  experienced 
companion  guessed  that  the  guide's  lips  gave 
it  as  a  signal  that  he  was  coming,  but  that 
he  didn't  want  to  draw  the  moose's  attention 
in  his  direction  just  yet. 

Such  a  quarter  of  an  hour  followed  !  With 
the  fresh  spurt  of  anger  the  bull-moose  be- 


Treed  by  a  Moose.  281 

came  more  savage  than  ever.  He  grunted, 
tramped,  and  hooked  the  trees  with  his  horns, 
so  that  the  pair  who  were  perched  like  night- 
birds  on  the  branches  had  to  hold  on  for  dear 
life,  lest  a  surprising  shock  should  dislodge 
them.  Whenever  the  creature  stood  off,  to 
gather  more  fury,  they  could  have  counted 
their  heart-beats  while  they  listened,  breath 
lessly  anxious  to  know  what  action  the  ap 
proaching  woodsman  would  take. 

Once  Cyrus  spoke. 

"  Dol  Farrar,"  he  said,  "  I  guess  this  caps 
all  the  adventures  that  you  or  I  have  had 
up  to  date.  No  wonder  you  felt  all  day  as  if 
you  were  working  up  to  something.  I'll  be 
lieve  in  presentiments  in  future." 

The  words  had  scarcely  passed  his  lips, 
when  there  was  the  sharp  bang  !  bang  !  of  a 
rifle  not  twenty  yards  distant.  A  bright 
sputter  of  fire  cut  the  darkness  beneath  the 
hemlocks. 

The  moose's  blind  rage  threatened  to  be 
his  own  undoing.  While  he  was  fighting  an 
imaginary  danger,  ears  and  nostrils  half- 
choked  by  fury,  through  the  calm  night  Herb 
Heal,  Winchester  in  hand,  had  crept  noise 
lessly  on,  till  he  reached  the  very  trees  which 
sheltered  his  friends. 


282  Camp  and  Trail. 

Once,  twice,  three  times  the  rifle  snapped. 
The  first  shot  missed  altogether.  At  the  sec 
ond,  the  moose  rose  upon  his  hind-legs,  with 
a  sharp  sound  of  fright  and  pain,  quite  unlike 
his  former  noises.  Then  he  gave  a  quick 
jump. 

"  Great  Governor's  Ghost !  he's  gone  ;  " 
yelled  Cyrus,  who  had  swung  himself  down 
a  few  feet,  and  was  hanging  by  one  arm,  in 
his  anxiety  to  see  the  result  of  the  firing. 
"  You  needn't  shoot  again,  Herb  !  He's  off! 
Let  him  go  !  " 

"  I  guess  that  second  shot  cut  some  hair 
from  him,  and  drew  blood  too,"  answered 
Herb,  his  deep  voice  giving  the  pair  a  queer 
sensation  as  they  heard  it  right  beneath.  "  It 
was  too  dark  to  see  plain,  but  I  think  he 
reared;  and  that's  a  sign  that  he  was  hurt, 
little  or  much.  Don't  drop  down  for  a  min 
ute,  boys,  till  we  see  whether  he  has  bolted 
for  good." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DOL'S    TRIUMPH. 

HE  had  bolted  for  good,  vanished  into  the 
mysterious  deeps  of  the  primeval  for 
est,  whether  hurt  unto  death,  or  merely 
"  nipped  "  in  a  fore-leg,  as  Herb  inclined  to 
think,  nobody  knew. 

"  It's  too  dark  to  see  blood-marks,  if  there 
are  any,  so  we  can't  trail  him  to-night.  If 
he's  hit  bad  —  but  I  guess  he  ain't  —  we  can 
track  him  in  the  morning,"  said  the  guide  ;  as, 
after  an  interval  of  listening,  the  rescued  pair 
dropped  down  from  their  perches.  "  Did  he 
chase  you,  boys  ?  Where  on  earth  did  you 
come  on  him  ?  " 

Talking  together,  their  words  tumbling  out 
like  a  torrent  let  loose,  Cyrus  Garst  and  Dol 
283 


284  Camp  and  Trail. 

Farrar  gave  an  account  of  the  past  two  hours 
—  strangest  hours  of  their  lives  —  filling  up 
the  picture  of  them  bit  by  bit. 

"Whew!  whew!  You  did  have  a  narrow 
squeak,  boys,  and  a  scarey  time  ;  but  I  guess 
you  had  a  lot  of  fun  out  of  the  old  snorter," 
said  Herb,  his  rare  laugh  jingling  out,  start 
ing  the  forest  echoes  like  a  clang  of  bells. 
"  You've  won  those  antlers,  Dol  —  won  'em 
like  a  man.  Blest,  but  you  have  !  I  promised 
'em  to  the  first  fellow  who  called  up  a  moose  ; 
and  nary  a  woodsman  in  Maine  could  have 
done  it  better.  I'm  powerful  glad  'twasn't 
your  own  death-call  you  gave.  I'll  keep  my 
eye  on  you  now  till  you  leave  these  woods. 
Where's  the  horn  ?  "  ' 

"  Smashed  to  bits,"  answered  Dol  regret 
fully. 

"And  the  camp-kettle  ?  " 

"  Lying  by  the  spring,  over  there  on  the 
knoll,  unless  the  moose  kicked  it  to  pieces," 
said  Cyrus. 

"  My  senses !  you're  a  healthy  pair  to  send 
for  water,  ain't  ye  ?  Let's  cruise  off  and  find 
it.  I  guess  you'll  be  wanting  a  drink  of  hot 
coffee,  after  roosting  in  them  trees  for  so 
long." 

Garst    led    the    way    to    the    spring.       Its 


Dot's  Triumph.  285 

pretty  hum  sounded  like  an  angel's  whisper 
through  the  night,  after  the  tumult  of  the  past 
scene.  Herb  fumbled  in  his  leather  wallet, 
brought  out  a  match  and  a  small  piece  of 
birch-bark,  and  kindled  a  light.  With  some 
groping,  the  kettle  was  found  ;  it  was  filled, 
and  the  party  started  for  camp. 

"  I  heard  the  distant  challenge  of  a  bull- 
moose  a  couple  of  hours  ago,"  said  the  guide, 
as  they  went  along.  "  I  never  suspicioned 
he  was  attacking  you  ;  but  after  the  camp  was 
a'  ready,  and  you  hadn't  turned  up,  I  got 
kind  o'  scared.  I  left  Neal  to  tend  the  fire 
and  toast  the  pork,  and  started  out  to  search. 
I  s'pose  I  took  the  wrong  direction  ;  for  I 
hollered,  and  got  no  answer.  Afterwards, 
when  I  was  travelling  about  the  bog,  I  heard 
a  '  Coo-hoo  !  '  and  the  noises  of  an  angry 
moose.  Then  I  guessed  there  was  trouble." 

''Won't  Neal  look  blue  when  he  hears  that 
he  was  toasting  pork  while  we  were  perched  in 
those  trees,  with  the  moose  waltzing  below !  " 

o 

exclaimed  Dol.  "Well,  Cy,  I've  won  the 
antlers,  and  I've  got  my  ripping  story  for  the 
Manchester  fellows.  I  don't  care  how  soon 
we  turn  home  now." 

"You  don't,  don't  ye?"  said  the  guide. 
"  Well,  I  should  s'pose  you'd  want  to  trail 


286  Camp  and  Trail. 

up  that  moose  to-morrow,  and  see  what  has 
become  of  him." 

"  Of  course  I  do  !     I  forgot  that." 

And  Dol  Farrar,  who  had  thought  his 
record  of  adventure  and  triumph  so  full  that 
it  could  hold  no  more,  realized  that  there  is 
always  for  ambition  a  farther  point. 

Neal  did  feel  a  little  blue  over  the  thought 
of  what  he  had  missed.  But,  being  a  gen 
erous-hearted  fellow,  he  tasted  his  young 
brother's  joy,  when  the  latter  cuddled  close 
to  him  upon  the  evergreen  boughs  that  night, 
muttering,  as  if  the  whole  earth  lay  conquered 
at  his  feet :  — 

"  My  legs  are .  as  stiff  as  ramrods,  but 
who'd  think  of  his  legs  after  such  a  night  as 
we've  had  ? 

"  I  say,  Neal,  this  is  life ;  the  little  hum 
bugging  scrapes  we  used  to  call  adventures 
at  home  are  only  play  for  girls.  It's  some 
thing  to  talk  about  for  a  lifetime,  when  a  fel 
low  comes  to  close  quarters  with  a  creature 
like  that  moose.  I  said  I'd  get  the  better  of 
his  ears,  and  I  did  it.  Pinch  me,  old  boy,  if 
I  begin  a  moose-call  in  my  sleep." 

Several  times  during  the  night  Neal  found 
it  necessary  to  obey  this  injunction,  else  had 
there  been  no  peace  in  the  camp.  But,  in 


DoVs   Triumph.  287 

spite  of  Dol's  ravings  and  riotings  in  his  ex 
cited  dreams,  the  party  enjoyed  a  needed  ten 
hours'  slumber,  all  save  Herb,  who,  as  usual, 
was  astir  the  next  morning  while  his  com 
rades  were  yet  snoring. 

He  got  his  fire  going  well,  and  baked  a 
great  flat  loaf  of  bread  in  his  frying-pan, 
setting  the  pan  amid  hot  ashes  and  covering 
it  over.  Previous  to  this,  he  had  made  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  distant  spring,  to  fill  his 
kettle  for  coffee  and  bread-making,  and  had 
carefully  examined  the  ground  about  the 
clump  of  hemlocks. 

The  result  of  his  investigation  was  given 
to  the  boys  as  they  ate  their  breakfast  under 
the  shade  of  a  cedar,  with  a  sky  above  them 
whose  morning  glories  were  here  and  there 
overshot  by  leaden  tints. 

"  I  guess  we've  got  a  pretty  fair  chance  of 
trailing  that  moose,"  he  said.  "  I  found  both 
hair  and  blood  on  the  spot  where  he  was 
wounded.  I'm  for  following  up  his  tracks, 
though  I  guess  they'll  take  us  a  bit  up  the 
mountain.  If  he's  hurt  bad,  'twould  be  kind 
o'  merciful  to  end  his  sufferings.  If  he  ain't, 
we  can  let  him  get  off." 

"  Right,  as  you  always  are,  Herb,"  an 
swered  Cyrus.  "  But  what  on  earth  made 


288  Camp  and  Trail. 

the  creature  bolt  so  suddenly?  If  you  had 
seen  him  five  minutes  before  he  was  shot, 
you'd  have  said  he  had  as  much  fight  in  him 
as  a  lion." 

"  That's  the  way  with  moose  a'most  always. 
Their  courage  ain't  that  o'  flesh-eating  ani 
mals.  It's  only  a  spurt ;  though  it's  a  pretty 
big  spurt  sometimes,  as  you  boys  know  now. 
It'll  fail  'em  in  a  minute,  when  you  least  ex 
pect  it.  And,  you  see,  that  one  last  night 
didn't  know  where  his  wound  came  from.  I 
guess  he  thought  he  was  struck  by  lightning 
or  a  thunder-ball,  so  he  skipped.  Talking 
of  thunder-balls,  boys,"  wound  up  Herb,  "  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  old  Mountain 
Spirit,  who  lives  up  a-top  there,  gave  us  a 
rattling  welcome  with  his  thunders  to-day. 
The  air  is  awful  heavy  for  this  time  of  year. 
Perhaps  we'd  better  give  up  the  trailing  after 
all." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Dol  indignantly. 
"Do  you  think  a  shower  will  melt  us?  Or 
that  we'll  squeal  like  girls  at  a  few  flashes  of 
lightning?  Twould  be  jolly  good  fun  to  see 
old  Pamolah  sending  off  his  artillery." 

"  Well,  there'd  be  no  special  danger,  I 
guess,  if  we  were  past  the  heavy  timber 
growth  before  the  storm  began.  There's  lots 


Do  I 's   Triumph .  289 

of  rocky  dens  on  the  mountain  side  where 
we  could  shelter  under  a  granite  ledge,  and 
be  safer  than  we'd  be  here  in  tent.  Or  we 
might  come  a-near  our  old  log  camp.  I  guess, 
if  that's  standing  yet,  you'd  like  to  see  it. 
Say !  we'll  leave  it  to  Cyrus.  He's  boss,  ain't 
he  ? " 

Cyrus,  desperately  anxious  to  know  whether 
it  would  be  life  or  death  for  the  wounded, 
moose,  and  regarding  the  siofns  of  bad  weather 

o  o  o 

as  by  no  means  certain,  decided  in  favor  of 
the  expedition.  The  campers  hurriedly  swal 
lowed  the  remainder  of  their  breakfast,  and 
made  ready  for  an  immediate  start. 

"  In  trailing  a  moose  the  first  rule  is:  go 
as  light  as  you  can  ;  that  is,  don't  carry  an 
ounce  more  stuff  than  is  necessary.  Even  a 
man's  rifle  is  apt  to  get  in  his  way  when  he 
has  to  scramble  over  windfalls,  or  slump  be 
tween  big  bowlders  of  rock,  which  a'most  tear 
the  clothes  off  his  back.  And  we  may  have 
to  do  some  pretty  tall  climbing.  So  leave 
all  your  traps  in  the  tent,  boys ;  I'll  fasten  it 
down  tight.  There  won't  be  any  human  rob 
bers  prowling  around,  you  bet !  Bears  and 
coons  are  the  only  burglars  of  these  woods, 
and  they  don't  do  much  mischief  in  daytime." 

The  guide  rapidly  gave  these  directions, 


290  Camp  and  Trail. 

his  breezy  voice  setting  a  current  of  energy 
astir,  like  a  wind-gust  cutting  through  a  quiet 
grove,  while  he  rolled  his  indispensable  axe, 
some  bread  that  was  left  from  the  meal,  and 
a  lump  of  pork  into  a  little  bundle,  which  he 
strapped  on  his  back. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  if  that  trail  should  give 
us  a  long  tramp,  or  if  you  boys  should  take  a 
notion  to  go  a  good  ways  up  Katahdin,  or 
anything  turns  up  to  hinder  our  getting  back 
to  camp  till  nightfall,  I've  our  snack  right 
here.  I  can  light  a  fire  in  two  minutes,  to 
toast  our  pork  ;  and  we'll  wash  it  down  with 
mountain  water,  the  best  drink  for  climbers. 
I  could  rig  you  up  a  snug  shelter,  too,  in  case 
of  accidents.  A  woodsman  ain't  in  it  with 
out  his  axe." 

To  what  strange  work  that  axe  would  be 
put  ere  night  again  closed  its  shutters  over 
granite  peaks  and  evergreen  forest,  Herb 
Heal  little  knew ;  nor  could  he  have  guessed 
that  the  coming  hours  would  make  the  most 
heart-stirring  clay  of  his  stirring  life.  If  he 
could,  would  he  have  started  out  this  morn 
ing  with  a  happy-go-lucky  whistle,  softly  mod 
ulated  on  his  lips,  and  no  more  sober  burden 
on  his  mind  than  the  trail  of  that  moose  ? 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

ON    KATAHDIN. 

"  OEE   there,   boys,    I    told    you    so,"    said 

^  Herb,  as  the  party  reached  the  ever- 
to-be-remembered  clump  of  hemlocks,  the 
beginning  of  the  trail  which  they  were  ready 
to  follow  up  like  sleuth-hounds.  "  There's 
plenty  of  hair  ;  I  guess  I  singed  him  in  two 
places." 

He  pointed  to  some  shaggy  clotted  locks 
on  the  grass  at  his  feet,  and  then  to  a  small 
maroon-colored  stain  beside  them. 

"  Is  that  blood  ?"  asked  Neal. 

"  Blood,  sure  enough,  though  there  ain't 
much  of  it.  But  I'll  tell  you  what !  I'd  as  soon 
there  wasn't  any.  I  wish  it  had  been  light 

enough  last  night  for  me  to  act  barber,  and 

291 


292  Camp  and  Trail. 

only  cut  some  hair  from  that  moose,  instead  of 
wounding  him.  It  might  have  answered  the 
purpose  as  well,  and  sent  him  walking." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  would  have  done  any 
thing  of  the  kind,"  exclaimed  Dol.  "  He  was 
far  too  red-hot  an  old  customer  to  bolt  be 
cause  a  bullet  shaved  him." 

"  Well,  I  don't  set  up  to  be  soft-hearted 
like  Cyrus  here  ;  and  I'm  ready  enough  to 
bag  my  meat  when  I  want  it,"  said  the  woods 
man.  "  But  sure's  you  live,  boys,  I  never 
wounded  a  free  game  creature  yet,  and  seed 
it  get  away  to  pull  a  hurt  limb  and  a  cruel 
pain  with  it  through  the  woods,  that  I  could 
feel  chipper  afterwards.  It's  only  your  deli 
cate  city  fellows  who  come  out  here  for  a  shot 
once  a  year,  who  can  chuckle  over  the  pools 
of  blood  a  wounded  moose  leaves  behind 
him.  Sho !  it's  not  manly." 

A  start  was  now  made  on  the  trail,  Herb 
leading,  and  showing  such  wonderful  skill  as 
a  trailer  that  the  English  boys  began  to 
believe  his  long  residence  in  the  woods  had 
developed  in  him  supernatural  senses. 

"  That  moose  was  shot  through  the  right 
fore-leg,"  he  whispered,  as  the  trackers 
reached  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  gasped  the  Farrars. 


On  Katahdin.  293 

The  woodsman  answered  by  kneeling,  bend 
ing  his  face  close  to  the  ground,  and  drawing 
his  brown  finger  successively  round  three 
prints  on  a  soft  patch  of  earth,  which  the 
unpractised  eyes  could  scarcely  discern. 

"  There's  no  mark  of  the  right  fore-hoof," 
he  whispered  again  presently ;  "  nothing  but 
that''  pointing  to  another  dark  red  blotch, 
which  the  boys  would  have  mistaken  for 
maroon-tinted  moss. 

A  breathless,  wordless,  toiling  hour  fol 
lowed.  Through  the  dense  woods,  which 
sloped  steadily  upward,  clothing  Katahdin's 
highlands,  Herb  Heal  travelled  on,  now  and 
again  halting  when  the  trail,  because  of 
freshly  fallen  pine-needles  or  leaves,  became 
quite  invisible.  Again  he  would  crouch  close 
to  the  ground,  make  a  circle  with  his  finger 
round  the  last  visible  print,  and  work  out 
from  that,  trying  various  directions,  until  he 
knew  that  he  was  again  on  the  track  which 
the  limping  moose  had  travelled  before  him. 

His  comrades  followed  in  single  file,  carry 
ing  their  rifles  in  front  of  their  bodies  instead 
of  on  their  shoulders,  so  that  there  might  be 
no  clanger  of  a  sudden  clang  or  rattle  from 
the  barrels  striking  the  trees.  Following  the 
example  of  their  guide,  each  one  carefully 


294  Camp  and  Trail. 

avoided  stepping  on  crackling  twigs  or  dry 
branches,  or  rustling  against  bushes  -or 
boughs.  The  latter  they  would  take  gin 
gerly  in  their  hands  as  they  approached 
them,  bend  them  out  of  the  way,  and  gently 
release  them  as  they  passed.  Heroically  they 
forebore  to  growl  when  their  legs  were 
scraped  by  jagged  bowlders  or  prickly 
shrubs,  giving  thanks  inwardly  to  the  manu 
facturers  of  their  stout  tweeds  that  their 
clothes  held  together,  instead  of  hanging  on 
them  like  streamers  on  a  rag-bush. 

It  was  a  good,  practical  lesson  in  moose- 
trailing  ;  but,  save  for  the  knowledge  gained 
by  the  three  who  had  never  stalked  a  moose 
before,  it  was  a  failure. 

The  air  beneath  the  dense  foliage  grew 
depressing  —  suffocating.  Each  one  longed 
breathlessly  for  the  minute  when  he  should 
emerge  from  this  heavy  timber-growth,  even 
to  do  more  rugged  climbing.  Distant  rum 
bles  were  heard.  Herb's  prophecy  was  being 
fulfilled.  Pamolah  was  grumbling  at  the  trail 
ers,  and  sending  out  his  Thunder  Sons  to  bid 
them  back. 

But  it  was  too  late  for  retreat.  If  they  gave 
up  their  purpose,  turned  and  fled  to  camp, 
the  storm,  which  was  surely  coming,  would 


On  Katahdin.  295 

catch  them  under  the  interlacing  trees,  a  dan 
ger  which  the  guide  was  especially  anxious  to 
avoid.  He  pressed  on  with  quickened  steps, 
stooping  no  more  to  make  circles  round  the 
moose's  prints.  Old  Pamolah's  threatenings 
grew  increasingly  sullen.  At  last  the  desired 
break  in  the  woods  was  reached ;  the  trackers 
found  themselves  on  the  open  side  of  Katah 
din,  surrounded  by  a  tangled  growth  of  alders 
and  white  birches  struggling  up  between 
granite  rocks;  then  the  mountain  artillery 
broke  forth  with  terrifying  clatter. 

A  loud,  long  thunder-roll  was  echoed  from 
crag,  slide,  forest,  spur,  and  basin.  The 
"  home  of  storms  "  was  a  fort  of  noise. 

"Ha!  there'll  be  a  big  cannonading  this 
time,  I  o-uess.  Pamolah  is  ofoincr  to  let  fly  at 

o  o  o  J 

us  with  big  shot,  little  shot,  fire  and  water — 
all  the  forces  the  old  scoundrel  has,"  said 
Herb  Heal,  at  last  breaking  the  silence  which 
had  been  kept  on  the  trail,  and  looking  aloft 
towards  the  five  peaks  guarding  that  myste 
rious  basin,  from  which  heavy,  lurid  clouds 
drifted  down. 

At  the  same  time  a  blustering,  mighty 
wind-gust  half  swept  the  four  climbers  from 
their  feet.  A  great  flash  of  globe  lightning 
cut  the  air  like  a  dazzling  fire-ball. 


296  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  We'll  have  to  quit  our  trailing,  and  scoot 
for  shelter,  I'm  thinking  !  "  exclaimed  Cyrus. 

"  Good  land,  I  should  say  so  ! "  agreed 
the  guide.  "The  bull-moose  likes  thunder. 
He's  away  in  some  thick  hole  in  the  forest 
now,  recovering  himself.  We  couldn't  have 
come  up  with  him  anyhow,  boys,  for  them 
blood-spots  had  stopped.  I  guess  his  leg 
wasn't  smashed;  and  he'll  soon  be  as  big  a 
bully  as  ever.  Follow  me  now,  quick  !  Mind 
yer  steps,  though !  Them  bushes  are  awful 
catchy  !  " 

Undazzled  by  the  lightning's  frequent  flare, 
unstaggered  by  the  down-rushing  wind,  as  if 
the  mountain  thunders  were  only  the  roll  of 
an  organ  about  his  ears,  Herb  Heal  sprang 
onward  and  upward,  tugging  his  comrades 
one  by  one  up  many  a  precipitous  ledge, 
and  pulling  them  to  their  feet  again  when  the 
tripping  bushes  brought  their  noses  to  the 
ground  and  their  heels  into  the  air. 

"  Hitch  on  to  me,  Dol !  "  he  cried,  sud 
denly  turning  on  that  youngster,  who  was 
trying  to  get  his  second  breath.  "  Tie  on  to 
me  tight.  I'll  tow  you  up !  I  wish  we  could 
ha'  reached  that  old  log  camp,  boys.  Twould 
be  a  stunning  shelter,  for  it  has  a  wall  of  rock 
to  the  back.  But  it's  higher  up,  and  off  to 


On  Katahdin.  297 

the  right.  There !  I  see  the  den  I'm  aiming 
for." 

A  few  energetic  bounds  brought  Herb, 
with  Dol  in  tow,  to  a  platform  of  rock,  which 
rose  above  a  bed  of  blueberry  bushes.  It 
narrowed  into  a  sort  of  cave,  roofed  by  an 
overhanging  bowlder. 

"  We'll  be  snug  enough  under  this  rock  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the  canopy.  "  Creep 
in,  boys.  We'll  have  tubs  of  rain,  and  a  pelt 
ing  of  hail.  The  rumpus  is  only  beginning." 

So  it  was.  The  storm  had  been  creeping 
from  its  cradle.  Now  it  swept  down  with  an 
awful  whirl  and  commingling  of  elements. 

The  boys,  peering  out  from  their  rocky 
nest,  saw  a  magnificent  panorama  beneath 
them.  The  regiments  of  the  air  were  at  war. 
Lightning  chains  encircled  the  heavens, 
lighting  up  the  forests  below.  Winds  charged 
down  the  mountain-side,  sweeping  stones 
and  bushes  before  them.  Hail-bullets  rattled 
in  volleys.  Thunder-artillery  boomed  until 
the  very  rocks  seemed  to  shake. 

"  It's  fine!"  exclaimed  Cyrus.  "  It's  super 
fine  !  " 

Then  a  curtain  of  thick  rain  partly  hid  the 
warfare,  the  lightning  still  rioting  through  it 
like  a  beacon  of  battle. 


298  Camp  and  Trail. 

''The  stones  up  above  will  have  to  be 
pretty  firmly  fixed  to  keep  their  places,"  said 
Herb.  "  Boys,  I  hope  there  ain't  a-going  to 
be  slides  on  the  mountain  after  this." 

"  Slides?"  echoed  Dol  questioningly. 

"  Landslides,  kid.  Say !  if  you  want  to 
be  scared  until  your  bones  feel  limp,  you've 
got  to  hear  a  great  big  block  of  granite  come 
ploughing  down  from  the  top  'o  the  moun 
tain,  bringing  earth  and  bushes  along  with  it, 
and  smashing  even  the  rocks  to  splinters  as 
it  pounds  along." 

"  I  guess  that's  a  sensation  we'd  rather  be 
spared,"  said  Cyrus  gravely. 

And  under  the  quieting  spell  of  the  airy 
warfare  there  was  silence  for  a  while. 

"  Do  you  think  it's  lightening  up,  Herb  ?  " 
asked  Neal,  after  the  storm  had  raged  for 
three-quarters  of  an  hour. 

"  I  guess  it  is.  The  rain  is  stopping  too. 
But  we'll  have  an  awful  slushy  time  of  it  get 
ting  back  to  camp.  To  plough  through  them 
soaked  forests  below  would  be  enough  to  give 
you  city  fellows  a  shaking  ague." 

"  Couldn't  we  climb  on  to  your  old  log 
camp?"  suggested  Garst.  "If  we  have  the 
luck  to  find  the  old  shanty  holding  together, 
we  can  light  a  fire  there  after  things  dry  out 


On  Katahdin.  299 

a  bit,  and  eat  our  snack.  Then  we  needn't 
be  in  a  hurry  to  get  down.  We'll  risk  it, 
anyhow." 

"  I  reckon  that's  about  the  only  thing  to 
be  done,"  assented  the  guide. 

And  in  twenty  minutes'  time  the  four  were 
again  straining  up  Katahdin,  clutching  slip 
pery  rocks,  sinking  in  sodden  earth,  shiver 
ing  as  they  were  besprinkled  by  every  bush 
and  dwarfed  tree,  and  dreadfully  hampered 
with  their  rifles. 

"  Never  mind,  boys ;  we'll  get  there !  Clinch 
yer  teeth,  and  don't  squirm!  Once  we're  past 
this  tangle,  the  bit  of  climbing  that's  left  will 
be  as  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log  !  " 

So  shouted  Herb  cheerfully,  as  he  tore  a 
way  with  hand  and  foot  through  the  stunted 
growth  of  alders  and  birch,  which,  beaten 
down  by  the  winds,  was  now  an  almost  im 
passable,  sopping  tangle. 

"  Keep  in  my  tracks  !  "  he  bellowed  again. 
"  Gracious  !  but  this  sort  o'  work  is  as  slow 
as  molasses  crawling  up-hill  in  winter." 

But  ten  minutes  later,  when  the  dripping 
jungle  was  behind,  he  dropped  his  jesting 
tone. 

He  came  to  a  full  stop,  catching  his  breath 
with  a  big  gulp. 


300  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Boys,"  he  cried,  "  it's  standing  yet  !  I 
see  it  —  the  old  home-camp  !  There  it  is 
above  us  on  that  bit  of  a  platform,  with  the 
big  rock  behind  it.  And  I've  kep'  saying  to 
myself  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  that  we 
wouldn't  find  it  —  that  we'd  find  nary  a  thing 
but  mildewed  logs  !  " 

A  wealth  of  memories  was  in  the  woods 
man's  eyes  as  he  gazed  up  at  the  timber  nest, 
the  log  camp  which  his  own  hands  had  put 
up,  standing  on  a  narrow  plateau,  and  built 
against  a  protecting  wall  of  rock  that  rose  in 
jagged  might  to  a  height  of  thirty  or  forty 
feet. 

An  earth  bank  or  ridge,  covered  with  hardy 
mosses  and  mountain  creepers,  sloped  gently 
up  to  the  sheltered  platform.  To  climb  this 
was,  indeed,  "  as  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log." 

"  We  used  to  have  a  good  beaten  path 
here,  but  I  guess  it's  all  growed  over,"  said 
Herb  in  a  thick  voice,  as  if  certain  cords  in 
his  throat  were  swelling.  "  Many's  the  time 
I've  blessed  the  sight  of  that  old  home-camp, 
boys,  after  a  hard  week's  trapping.  Hun- 
dert's  o*  night's  I've  slept  snug  inside  them 
log  walls  when  blasts  was  a-sweeping  and 
bellowing  around,  like  as  if  they'd  rip  the 
mountain  open,  and  tear  its  very  rocks  out." 


On  Katahdin.  301 

While  the  guide  spoke  he  was  leaping  up 
the  ridge.  A  few  minutes,  and  he  stood,  a 
towering  figure,  on  the  platform  above,  wav 
ing  his  battered  hat  in  salute  to  the  old  camp. 

"  I  guess  some  traveller  has  been  shelter 
ing  here  lately !  "  he  cried  to  Neal  Farrar,  as 
the  latter  overtook  him.  "  There's  a  litter 
around,"  pointing  to  dry  sticks  and  withered 
bushes  strewn  upon  the  camping-ground. 
"  And  the  door's  standing  open.  I  wonder 
who  found  the  old  shanty  ?  " 

Neal  remembered,  hours  afterwards,  that  at 
the  moment  he  felt  an  odd  awakening  stir  in 
him,  a  stir  which,  shooting  from  head  to  foot, 
seemed  to  warn  him  that  he  was  nearing  a 
sensation,  the  biggest  sensation  of  this  wil 
derness  trip. 

He  heard  the  voices  of  Cyrus  and  Dol  hal 
looing  behind  ;  but  they  sounded  away  back 
and  indistinct,  for  his  ears  were  bent  towards 
the  deserted  camp,  listening  with  breathless 
expectation  for  something,  he  didn't  know 
what. 

One  minute  the  vague  suspense  lasted, 
while  he  followed  Herb  towards  the  hut. 
Then  heaven  and  earth  and  his  own  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still. 

Through  the  wide-open  door  of  the  shanty 


302  Camp  and  Trail. 

came  random,  crooning  snatches  of  sound. 
Was  the  guttural  voice  which  made  them  hu 
man  ?  The  English  boy  scarcely  knew.  But 
as  the  noise  swelled,  like  the  moaning  of  a 
dry  wind  among  trees,  he  began,  as  it  were, 
to  disentangle  it.  Words  shaped  themselves, 
Indian  words  which  he  had  heard  before  on 
the  guide's  tongue. 


pes-saus,  m  ok  glint  ont-aven, 
Glint  ont-aven,  nosh  inorgun" 

These  lines  from  the  "  Star  Song,"  the 
song  which  Herb  had  learned  from  his  traitor 
chum,  floated  out  to  him  upon  Katahdin's 
breeze.  They  struck  young  Farrar's  ears  in 
staggering  tones,  like  a  knell,  the  sadness  of 
which  he  could  not  at  the  moment  understand. 
But  he  had  a  vague  impression  that  the  mys 
terious  singer  in  the  deserted  camp  attached 
no  meaning  to  what  he  chanted. 

"  Look  out,  I  say  !  I  don't  want  to  come  a 
cropper  here." 

It  was  Dol's  young  voice  which  rang  out 
shrilly  among  the  mountain  echoes.  Side  by 
side  with  Cyrus,  the  boy  had  just  gained  the 
top  of  the  ridge  when  the  guide  suddenly 
backed  upon  him,  Herb's  great  shoulder- 
blade  knocking  him  in  the  face,  so  that  he 


On  Katahdin.  303 

had  to  plant  his  feet  firmly  to  avoid  spin 
ning  back. 

But  Herb  had  heard  that  guttural  crooning. 
Just  now  he  could  hear  nothing  else. 

Twice  he  made  a  heaving  effort  to  speak, 
and  the  voice  cracked  in  his  throat. 

Then,  as  he  sprang  for  the  camp-door,  four 
words  stumbled  from  his  lips :  — 

"  By  thunder!   it's  Chris." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    OLD    HOME-CAMP. 

THE  silence  which  followed  that  ejacula 
tion  was  like  the  hush  of  earth  before  a 
thunder-storm. 

Not  a  syllable  passed  the  lips  of  the  boys 
as  they  followed  Herb  into  the  log  hut,  but 
feeling  seemed  wagging  a  startled  tongue  in 
each  finger-tip  which  convulsively  pressed 
the  rifles. 

And  not  another  articulate  sentence  came 
from  the  guide  ;  only  his  throat  swelled  with 
a  deep,  amazed  gurgle  as  he  reached  the 
interior  of  the  shanty,  and  dropped  his  eyes 
upon  the  individual  who  raised  that  queer 
chanting. 

On  a  bed  of  withered  spruce  boughs, 
304 


The  Old  Home -Camp.  305 

strewn  higgledy-piggledy  upon  the  camp- 
floor  —  mother  earth  —  lay  the  form  of  a 
man.  Thin  wisps  of  blue-black  hair,  long 
untrimmed,  trailed  over  his  face  and  neck, 
which  looked  as  if  they  were  carved  out 
of  yellow  bone.  His  figure  was  skeleton- 
like.  His  lips  —  the  lips  which  at  the  entrance 
of  the  strangers  never  ceased  their  wild  croon 
ing — were  swollen  and  fever-scorched.  His 
black  eyes,  disfigured  by  a  hideous  squint, 
rolled  with  the  sick  fancies  of  delirium. 

Cyrus  and  the  Farrars,  while  they  looked 
upon  him,  felt  that,  even  if  they  had  never 
heard  Herb's  exclamation,  they  would  have 
had  no  difficulty  in  identifying  the  creature, 
remembering  that  story  which  had  thrilled 
them  by  the  camp-fire  at  Millinokett.  It 
was  Herb  Heal's  traitor  chum  —  the  half- 
breed,  Cross-eyed  Chris. 

And  Herb,  backing  off  from  the  withered 
couch  as  far  as  the  limited  space  of  the  cabin 
would  allow,  stood  with  his  shoulders  against 
the  mouldy  logs  of  the  wall,  his  eyes  like 
peep-holes  to  a  volcano,  gulping  and  gur 
gling,  while  he  swallowed  back  a  fire  of  amazed 
excitement  and  defeated  anger,  for  which  his 
backwoods  vocabulary  was  too  cheap. 

A   flame    seemed    scorching   and    hissing 


306  Camp  and  Trail. 

about  his  heart  while  he  remembered  that 
during  some  hour  of  every  day  for  five  years, 
since  last  he  had  seen  the  ''hound"  who 
robbed  him,  he  had  sworn  that,  if  ever  he 
caught  the  thief,  he  would  pounce  upon  him 
with  a  woodsman's  'vengeance. 

"  I  couldn't  touch  him  now  —  the  scum  ! 
But  I'll  be  switched  if  I'll  do  a  thing  to  help 
him  !  "  he  hissed,  the  flame  leaping  to  his  lips. 

Yet  he  had  a  strange  sensation,  as  if  that 
vow  was  broken  like  an  egg-shell  even  while 
he  made  it.  He  knew  that  "  the  two  creatures 
which  had  fought  inside  of  him,  tooth  and 
claw,"  about  the  fate  of  his  enemy,  were 
pinching  his  heart  by  turns  in  a  last  hot 
conflict. 

His  eyes  shot  flinty  sparks  ;  he  drew  his 
breath  in  hard  puffs ;  his  knotted  throat 
twitched  and  swelled,  while  they  (the  man 
and  the  brute)  strove  within  him ;  and  all  the 
time  he  stood  staring  in  grisly  silence  at  the 
half-breed. 

The  latter  still  continued  his  Indian  croon; 
though  from  tne  crazy  roll  of  his  malformed 
eyes  it  was  plain  that  he  knew  not  whether 
he  chanted  about  the  stars,  his  old  friends 
and  guides,  or  about  anything  else  in  heaven 
or  earth. 


The  Old  Home -Camp.  307 

But  one  thing  quickly  became  clear  to 
Cyrus,  and  then  to  the  Farrar  boys, —  less 
accustomed  to  tragedy  than  their  comrade, — 
that  this  strange  personage,  in  whose  veins 
the  blood  of  white  men  and  red  men  met, 
carrying  in  its  turbid  flow  the  weaknesses  of 
two  races,  was  sinking1  his  swan-sono-  the 

o       o  o ' 

last  chant  he  would  ever  raise  on  earth. 

At  their  first  entrance,  as  their  bodies 
interfered  with  the  broad  light  streaming 
through  the  cabin-door,  Chris  had  lifted  to- 

o 

wards  them  a  scared,  shrinking  stare.  But, 
apparently,  he  took  them  for  the  shadows 
which  walked  in  the  dreams  of  his  delirium. 
Not  a  ray  of  recognition  lightened  the  blank- 
ness  of  that  stare  as  Herb's  big  figure  passed 
before  him.  Letting  his  eyes  wander  aim 
lessly  again  from  log  wall  to  log  wall,  from 
withered  bed  to  mouldy  rafters,  his  lips  con 
tinued  their  crooning,  which  sank  with  his 
weakening  breath,  then  rose  again  to  sink 
once  more,  like  the  last  wind-gusts  when  the 
storm  is  over. 

Suddenly  his  shrunken  body  shivered  in 
every  limb.  The  humming  ceased.  His  yel 
low  teeth  tapped  upon  each  other  in  trouble 
and  fear.  He  raised  himself  to  a  squatting 
posture,  with  his  knee-bones  to  his  chin, 


308  Camp  and  Trail. 

the  wisps  of  hair  tumbling  upon  his  naked 
chest. 

"  It's  dark  —  heap  dark  !  "  he  whimpered, 
between  long  gasps.  "  Can't  strike  the  trail 

—  can't  find  the  home-camp.     Herb  —  Herb 
Heal  —  ole   pard  —  'twas   I   took   'em  —  the 
skins.     'Twas  —  a  dog's  trick.     Take  it  out 

—  o'  my  hide  —  if  yer  wants  to — yah!     Heap 
sick !  " 

Not  a  ray  of  sense  was  yet  in  the  half- 
breed's  eyes.  An  imaginary,  vengeance-deal- 
ine  Herb  was  before  him  ;  but  he  never  turned 

o 

a  glance  towards  the  real,  and  now  forgiving, 
old  chum,  who  leaned  against  the  wall  not 
ten  feet  away.  His  voice  dropped  to  a  gut 
tural  rumble,  in  which  Indian  sounds  mingled 
with  English. 

But  the  flame  at  Herb's  heart  was  quenched 
at  the  first  whimpered  word.  His  stiffened 
muscles  and  lips  relaxed.  With  a  gurgle 
of  sorrow,  he  crossed  the  camp-floor,  and 
dropped  into  a  crawling  position  on  the  faded 
spruces. 

"  Chris!  "  he  cried  thickly.  "  Chris,  —  poor 
old  pard,  —  don't  ye  know  me?  Look,  man! 
Herb  is  right  here — Herb  Heal,  yer  old 
chum.  You're  '  heap  sick '  for  sure  ;  but 
we'll  haul  you  off  to  a  settlement  or  to  our 


The  Old  Home -Camp.  309 

camp,  and  I'll  bring  Doc  along  in  two  days. 
He'll"  — 

But  Cross-eyed  Chris  became  past  hearing, 
his  flicker  of  strength  had  failed  ;  he  keeled 
over,  and  lay,  with  his  limp  legs  curled  up, 
faint  and  speechless,  upon  the  dead  ever 
greens. 

"  You  ain't  a-going  to  die  !  "  gasped  Herb 
defiantly.  "  I'll  be  jiggered  if  you  be,  jest  as 
I've  found  you  !  Say,  boys  !  Cyrus  !  Neal ! 
rub  him  a  bit,  will  ye  ?  We  ain't  got  no 
brandy,  I'll  build  a  fire,  and  warm  some 
coffee." 

It  was  strange  work  for  the  hands  of  the 
Bostonian,  and  stranger  yet  for  those  of  young 
Farrar,  —  son  of  an  English  merchant-prince, 
—  this  straightening  and  rubbing  of  a  dying 
half-Indian,  a  "  scum,"  as  Herb  called  him, 
drunkard,  and  thief.  Yet  there  was  no  flash 
of  hesitation  on  Farrar's  part,  as  they  brought 
their  warm  friction  to  bear  upon  the  chill  yel 
low  skin,  piebald  from  dirt  and  the  stains  of 
travel,  as  if  it  were  the  very  mission  which 
had  brought  them  to  Katahdin. 

They  had  grave  thoughts  meanwhile  that 
the  old  mountain  was  decidedly  gloomy  in 
its  omens,  first  a  thunder-storm  and  then  a 
tragedy;  for,  rub  as  they  might  with  brotherly 


310  Camp  and  7 rail. 

hands,  they  could  not  pass  their  own  warmth 
into  the  body  of  the  half-breed,  though  he 
still  lived. 

But  the  mountain  had  not  ended  its  terrors 
yet. 

Its  mumbling-  lips  began  to  speak,  with  a 
threatening,  low  at  first  like  muttered  curses, 
but  swelling  into  a  nameless  noise  —  a  rum 
bling,  pounding,  creeping,  crashing. 

"  Great  Governor's  Ghost !  what's  that  ?  " 
gasped  Cyrus,  stopping  his  rubbing.  "  Pa- 
molah  or  some  other  fiend  seems  to  be  bom 
barding  us  from  the  top  now." 

"  It's  more  thunder  rolling  over  us,"  said 
Neal ;  but  as  he  spoke  his  tongue  turned  stiff 
with  fear. 

"  Sounds  as  if  the  whole  mountain  was 
tumbling  to  pieces.  Perhaps  it's  the  end  of 
the  world,"  suggested  Dol,  as  a  succession  of 
booming  shocks  from  above  seemed  to  shake 
the  camping-ground  under  his  feet. 

There  was  one  second  of  awful  indecision. 
The  boys  looked  at  each  other,  at  the  dying 
man,  at  the  roof  above  them,  in  the  stiffness 
of  uncertain  terror. 

Then  a  figure  leaped  into  their  midst,  with 
an  armful  of  dry  sticks,  which  he  dashed  from 
him.  It  was  Herb,  with  the  fuel  for  a  fire. 


The  Old  Home-  Camp.  3 1 1 

And,  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  history, 
so  far  as  these  friends  of  his  knew  it,  there 
was  that  big  fear  in  his  face  which  is  most 
terrible  when  it  looks  out  of  the  eyes  of  a 
naturally  brave  man. 

"  Boys,  where's  yer  senses?"  he  yelled  cut 
tingly.  "  Out,  for  your  lives!  Run!  There's 
a  slide  above  us  on  the  mountain  !  " 

"Him?"  questioned  Cyrus's  stiff  lips,  as 
he  pointed  to  the  breathing  wreck  on  the 
spruce  boughs.  "  He's  not  dead  yet." 

"D'ye  think  I'd  leave  him?  Clear  out  of 
this  camp  —  you,  or  we'll  be  buried  in  less'n 
two  minutes  !  To  the  right !  Off  this  ridge  ! 
Got  yer  rifles  ?  I'm  coming  !  " 

The  woodsman  flung  out  the  words  while 
his  brawny  arms  hoisted  the  body  of  his  old 
chum.  His  comrades  had  already  disap 
peared  when  he  turned  and  sprang  for  the 
camp-door  with  his  limp  burden,  but  his  moc- 
casined  foot  kicked  against  something. 

A  great  hiccough  which  was  almost  a  sob 
rose  from  Herb's  throat.  It  was  his  one  val 
uable  possession,  his  45-90  Winchester  rifle, 
his  second  self,  which  he  had  rested  against 
the  log  wall. 

"  Good-by,  Old  Blazes !  "  he  grunted.  "  You 
never  went  back  on  me,  but  I  can't  lug  him 


312  Camp  and  Trail. 

and  you  !  My  stars !  but  that  was  a  narrow 
squeak." 

For,  as  he  cleared  the  camping-ground  with 
a  blind  dash,  with  head  bent  and  tongue 
caught  between  his  clenched  teeth,  with  a 
boom  like  a  Catling  gun,  a  great  block  of 
granite  from  the  summit  of  Katahdin  struck 
the  rock  which  sheltered  the  old  camp,  break 
ing  a  big  piece  off  it,  and  shot  on  with  mighty 
impetus  clown  the  mountain. 

An  avalanche  of  loose  earth,  stones,  and 
bushes,  brought  down  by  this  battering-ram 
of  the  landslide,  piled  themselves  upon  the 
log  hut,  smashing  to  kindling-woocl  its  walls, 
which  had  stood  many  a  hard  storm,  burying 
them  out  of  sight,  and  flinging  wide  showers 
of  dust  and  small  missiles. 

A  scattered  rain  of  clay  caught  Herb  upon 
the  head,  and  lodged,  some  of  it,  on  the  little 
pack  containing  axe  and  lunch  which  was 
strapped  upon  his  shoulders. 

He  shook.  His  grip  loosened.  The  limp, 
dragging  body  in  his  arms  sank  until  the  feet 
touched  the  earth. 

But  with  the  supreme  effort,  moral  and 
physical,  of  his  life,  the  forest  guide  gathered 
it  tight  again. 

"I'll  be  blowed  if  I'll  drop  him  now,"  he 


The  Old  Home -Camp.  313 

gasped.     "  He    ain't    nothing   but   a   bag   o' 
bones,  anyhow." 

Only  a  strong  man  in  the  hour  of  his  best 
strength  could  have  done  it.  With  a  defiant 
snort  Herb  charged  through  the  choking  dust- 
clouds,  pelted  by  flying  pebbles,  sods,  and 
fragments  of  sticks. 

"  This  way,  boys!"  he  roared,  after  five 
straining,  staggering  minutes,  as  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  comrades  ahead,  tearing  off  to 
the  right,  as  he  had  bidden  them.  "  You 
may  let  up  now.  We're  safe  enough." 

They  faced  back,  and  saw  him  make  a  few 
reeling,  descending  steps,  then  lay  what  now 
seemed  to  be  an  out-and-out  lifeless  man  on 
a  bed  of  moss  beneath  a  dwarfed  spruce. 

The  nerves  of  the  three  were  in  a  jumping 
condition,  their  brains  felt  befuddled,  and 
their  hearts  sinking  and  melting  in  the  midst 
of  their  bones,  from  the  astounding  shock 
and  terror  of  the  land-slide.  But,  as  they  be 
held  the  guide  deposit  his  burden,  with  its 
helplessly  trailing  head  and  limbs,  a  cheer  in 
unsteady  tones  rang  above  the  slackening 
rattle  of  earth  and  stones,  and  the  far-away 
boom  of  the  granite-block  as  it  buried  itself 
in  the  forest  beneath. 

"  Hurrah  !   for  you,  Herb,  old  boy,"  yelled 


3H  Camp  and  Trail. 

Cyrus  triumphantly.  "  That  was  the  grittiest 
thing  I  ever  saw  done!  Hurrah!  Hurrah! 
Hoo-ray  !  " 

The  English  boys,  open-throated,  swelled 
the  peal. 

But  their  cheering  broke  off  as  they  came 
near,  and  saw  the  mask-like  face  over  which 
Herb  bent. 

"  Is  he  gone,  poor  fellow?"  asked  Garst. 
"  What  do  you  suppose  caused  it  —  the 
slide  ?  " 

"  Why,  it  was  a  thundering  big  lump  of 
granite  from  the  top  o'  the  mountain,"  an 
swered  Herb,  replying  to  the  second  question. 
"That  plaguy  heavy  rain  must  ha'  loosened 
the  earth  around  it  the  clay  and  bushes  that 
kep'  it  in  place.  So  it  got  kind  o'  top-heavy, 
and  came  slumping  and  pitching  clown,  slow 
at  first,  and  then  a'most  as  quick  as  a  cannon- 
ball,  bringing  all  that  pile  along  with  it.  I've 
seen  the  like  before  ;  but,  sho  !  I  never  came 
so  near  being  buried  by  it." 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  the  late  camp 
ing-ground,  with  its  lodgment  of  clay,  sods, 
pygmy  trees,  and  pieces  of  rock,  big  and 
little. 

"The  old  camp's  clean  wiped  out,  boys," 
he  said  ;  "  and  I  guess  one  of  the  men  that 


HERB  CHARGED  THROUGH  THE  CHOKING  DUST-CLOUDS. 


The  Old  Home -Camp.  315 

built  it  is  gone,  or  a'most  gone,  too.  Stick 
your  arm  under  his  head,  Cyrus,  while  I  hunt 
for  some  water." 

Garst  did  as  he  was  bidden,  but  his  help 
was  not  needed  long.  The  guide  went  off 
like  a  racer,  covering  the  ground  at  a  stretch 
ing  gallop.  He  remembered  well  the  clear 
Katahdin  spring,  which  had  supplied  the 
home-camp  during  that  long-past  trapping 
winter.  He  returned  with  his  tin  mug  full. 

When  the  ice-cold  drops  touched  Chris's 
forehead,  and  lay  on  his  parted  lips,  gem-like 
drops  which  he  was  past  swallowing,  his 
malformed  eyes  slowly  opened.  There  was 
intelligence  in  them,  shining  through  the 
gathering  death-film,  like  a  sinking  light  in  a 
lantern. 

He  was  groping  in  the  dim  border-land 
now,  and  in  it  he  recognized  his  old  part 
ner  with  shadowy  wonder  ;  for  delirium  was 
past,  with  the  other  storms  of  a  storm-beaten 
life. 

"  Herb,"  he  gurgled  in  snatches,  the  words 
being  half  heard,  half  guessed  at,  "  'twas  I 
—  took  'em  —  the  skins  —  an'  the  antlers.  I 
wanted  —  to  get —  to  the  ole  camp  —  an'  let 
you  —  take  it  out  o'  me  —  afore  I  —  keeled 
over." 


316  Camp  and  Trail. 

Herb  had  taken  Cyrus's  place,  and  was  up 
holding  him  with  a  tenderness  which  showed 
that  the  guide's  heart  was  in  this  hour  melted 
to  a  jelly.  Two  tears  were  dammed  up  inside 
his  eyelids,  which  were  so  unused  to  tears 
that  they  held  them  in.  He  neither  wiped 
nor  winked  them  away  before  he  answered :  — 

"Don't  you  fret  about  that  —  poor  kid. 
We'll  chuck  that  old  business  clean  out  o' 
mind.  You've  jest  got  to  suck  this  water 
and  try  to  chipper  up,  and  —  we'll  make 
camp  together  again." 

But  Herb  knew  as  well  as  he  knew  any 
thing  that  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  was 
long  past  "  chippering  up,"  and  was  starting 
alone  to  the  unseen  camping-grounds. 

"  How  long  since  you  got  back  here?"  he 
asked,  close  to  the  dulling  ear. 

"  Couldn't  —  keep  —  track  —  o'  days.     Got 

—  turned  —  round  —  in  woods.     Lost  —  trail 

—  heap  —  long  —  getting  —  to  —  th'   old  — 
camp." 

The  words  seemed  freezing  on  the  lips 
which  uttered  them.  Herb  asked  no  more 
questions.  Silence  was  broken  only  by  the 
rolling  voice  of  the  land-slide,  which  had  not 
yet  ceased.  Occasional  volleys  of  loose  earth 
and  stones,  dislodged  or  shaken  by  the  down- 


The  Old  Home-Camp.  317 

plunging-  granite,  still  kept  falling  at  intervals 
on  the  buried  camp. 

At  one  unusually  loud  rattle,  Chris's  lips 
moved  again.  In  those  strange  gutturals 
which  the  boys  had  heard  in  the  hut,  he 
rumbled  an  Indian  sentence,  repeating  it  in 
English  with  scared,  breaking  breaths. 

It  was  a  prayer  of  her  tribe  which  his 
mother  had  taught  him  to  say  at  morning 
and  eve  :  — 

"  God  —  I  —  am  —  weak --Pity — me  !" 

"  Heap  —  noise  !  Heap  —  dark  !  "  he 
gasped.  "  Can't  —  find  —  th'  old  —  camp." 

"  You're  near  it  now,  old  chum,"  said  Herb, 
trying  to  soothe  him.  "  It's  the  home-camp." 

"  We'll  —  camp  —  to-ge-ther  ?  " 

"  We  will  again,  sure." 

The  last  stone  pounded  down  on  the  heap 
above  the  old  camp  ;  and  Herb  gently  laid 
flat  the  body  of  the  man  he  had  sworn  to 
shoot,  closed  the  malformed  eyes,  and  turned 
away,  that  the  fellows  he  was  guiding  might 
not  see  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BROTHERS'  WORK. 

THEY  buried  Chris  upon  Katahdin's  breast. 
It  was  a  good  cemetery  for  woodsmen, 
so  Herb  saicl,  granite  above  and  forest  be 
neath. 

But,  good  or  bad,  this  was  the  one  thing 
to  be  done.  An  attempt  to  transfer  the  body 
to  a  distant  settlement  would  be  objectless 
labor ;  for,  as  far  as  the  guide  knew,  the  half- 
breed  had  not  a  friend  to  be  interested  in  his 
fate,  father  and  mother  having  died  before 
Herb  found  him  in  the  snow-heaped  forest. 

There  were  three  reliable  witnesses,  besides 

the  man  who  was  known  to  have  a  grudge 

against  him,  to  testify  as  to  the  cause  and 

manner  of  his  death  when  the  party  returned 

318 


Brothers    Work.  319 

to  Greenville  ;  so  no  suspicious  finger  could 
point  at  Herb  Heal,  with  a  hint  that  he  had 
carried  out  his  old  threat. 

How  long1  Chris,  in  lonely,  crazed  re 
pentance,  had  sheltered  in  the  camp  on  the 
mountain-side  could  only  be  a  matter  of 
guess.  Herb  inclined  to  think  that  he  had 
been  there  for  weeks,  —  months,  perhaps, 
—  judging  from  the  withered  spruce  bed 
and  the  dry  boughs  and  sticks  upon  the 
camping-ground,  which  had  evidently  been 
gathered  and  broken  for  fuel.  His  ravings 
made  it  clear  that,  on  returning  to  the  old 
haunts  after  years  of  absence,  he  had  missed 
the  trail  he  used  to  know,  and  wandered 
wearily  in  the  dense  woods  about  the  foot  of 
Katahdin  before  he  escaped  from  the  prison 
of  trees,  and  climbed  to  the  hut  he  sought. 

Such  wanderings,  Herb  declared,  gener 
ally  ended  in  "a  man  having  wheels  in  his 
head,"  being  half  or  wholly  insane,  though  he 
might  keep  sufficient  wits  to  provide  himself 
with  food  and  warmth,  as  Chris  had  done 
while  his  strength  held  out.  This  was  not 
long ;  for  the  half-breed's  words  suggested 
that  he  felt  near  to  the  great  change  he 
roughly  called  "keeling  over,"  when  he  started 
to  find  his  cheated  partner. 


320  Camp  and  Trail. 

But  Cyrus,  while  he  watched  the  guide 
making  preparations  for  the  mountain  burial, 
pictured  the  poor  weakling  tramping  for 
hundreds  of  miles  through  rugged  forest- 
land,  doubtless  with  aching  knee-joints  and 
feet,  that  he  might  make  upon  his  own  skin 
justice  for  the  skins  which  he  had  stolen,  and 
so,  in  the  only  way  he  knew,  square  things 
with  his  wronged  chum.  And  the  city  man 
thought,  with  a  tear  of  pity,  that  even  that 
poor  drink-fuddled  mind  must  have  been  lit 
by  some  ray  of  longing  for  goodness. 

It  was  a  strange  funeral. 

The  guide  chose  a  spot  where  the  earth 
had  been  much  softened  by  the  recent  rain  ; 
and,  with  the  ingenuity  of  a  man  accustomed 
to  wilderness  shifts,  he  broke  up  the  drenched 
ground  with  the  axe  which  he  took  from  his 
shoulders. 

That  axe,  which  had  so  often  made  camp, 
had  never  before  made  a  grave  ;  the  Far- 
rars  doubted  that  it  ever  would.  But  Herb 
worked  away  upon  his  knees,  moisture  drip 
ping  from  his  skin,  putting  sorrow  for  years 
of  anger  into  every  blow  of  his  arms.  Then, 
stopping  a  while,  he  went  off  down  the 
mountain  to  the  nearest  belt  of  trees,  and 
cut  a  limb  from  one,  out  of  which,  with  his 


Brothers    Work.  321 

hunting-knife,  he  fashioned  a  rude  wooden 
implement,  a  cross  between  a  spade  and 
shovel. 

With  this  he  scooped  out  the  broken  earth 
until  a  grave  appeared  over  three  feet  deep. 
He  lined  it  with  fragrant  spruce-boughs  from 
the  wind-beaten  tangle  below. 

These  Cyrus  and  Dol  had  busied  them 
selves  in  cutting.  Neal  thought  of  other 
work  for  his  fingers.  Getting  hold  of  Herb's 
axe  when  the  owner  was  not  using  it,  he 
felled  one  of  the  dwarf  white  birches.  Out 
of  its  light,  delicate  wood,  with  the  help  of 
his  big  pocket-knife  and  a  ball  of  twine  that 
was  hidden  somewhere  about  him,  he  made 
a  very  presentable  cross,  to  point  out  to 
future  hunters  on  Katahdin  the  otherwise 
unmarked  grave. 

He  was  a  bit  of  a  genius  at  wood-carving, 
and  surveyed  his  work  with  satisfaction  when 
he  considered  it  finished,  having  neatly  cut 
upon  it  the  name,  "  Chris  Kemp,"  with  the 
date,  "  October  2Oth,  1891." 

"  Couldn't  you  add  a  text  or  motto  of  some 
kind  ? "  suggested  Dol,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder.  "  'Twould  make  it  more  like  the 
things  one  sees  in  cemeteries.  You're  such 
a  dab  at  that  sort  of  work." 


Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Can't  think  of  anything,"  answered  the 
elder  brother. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  lighting  of  his  face,  he 
seized  the  knife  again,  and  worked  in,  in  fine 
lettering,  the  frightened  prayer  he  had  heard 
on  the  half-breed's  lips  :  — 

"  God,  I  am  weak  ;  pity  me  !  " 

Herb  and  Cyrus  lowered  the  body  into  its 
resting-place,  and  covered  it  with  the  green 
spruces. 

The  four  campers  knelt  bare-headed  by  the 
grave. 

"  Couldn't  one  of  you  boys  say  a  bit  of  a 
prayer  ?  "  asked  Herb  in  a  thick  voice.  "  I 
ain't  used  to  spouting." 

All  former  help  had  been  easily  given.  This 
was  a  harder  matter,  yet  not  so  difficult  as  it 
would  have  been  amid  a  city  congregation. 

Garst  tried  to  recall  some  suitable  prayer 
from  a  funeral  service  ;  so  did  Neal.  Both 
failed. 

But  here  upon  Katahclin's  side,  where,  in 
the  large  forces  of  storm  and  slide,  in  forest 
and  granite,  through  every  wind-swept  bush, 
waving  blade,  and  tinted  lichen,  breathed  a 
whisper  from  God,  it  seemed  no  unnatural 
thing  for  a  man  or  a  boy  to  speak  to  his 
Father. 


Brothers    Work.  323 

"  Can't  one  of  you  fellers  say  a  prayer  ?  " 
asked  Herb  again. 

Then  the  river  of  feeling  in  Cyrus  broke 
the  dam  of  reserve,  and  flowed  over  his  lips 
in  a  prayer  such  as  he  had  never  before 
uttered. 

It  was  the  prayer  of  a  son  who  was  for  the 
minute  absorbed  in  his  Father. 

It  left  the  five,  those  who  were  camping 
here  and  one  who  had  gone  to  unseen  camp 
ing-grounds,  with  son-like  trust  to  the  Fa 
ther's  dealings. 

Herb  and  the  Farrars  responded  to  it  with 
heart-eager  "Amens  !  "  the  fervor  of  which 
was  new  to  their  lips. 

"  I  thank  you  as  if  he  were  my  own  brother, 
boys,"  said  the  woodsman,  while  he  filled  in 
the  grave,  and  planted  Neal's  cross  at  its 
head.  "  Sho  !  when  it  comes  to  a  time  like 
we've  been  through  to-day,  a  man,  if  he  has 
anything  but  a  gizzard  in  him,  must  feel  as 
how  we're  all  brothers,  —  every  man-jack  of 
us,  —  white  men,  red  men,  half-and-half  men, 
whatever  we  are  or  wherever  we  sprung." 

"A  fellow  is  always  hearing  that  sort  of 
thing,"  said  Neal  Farrar  to  Cyrus.  "  But  I'm 
blessed  if  I  ever  felt  it  stick  in  me  before  ! 
that  we're  all  of  the  one  stuff,  you  know  — 


324  Camp  and  Trail. 

we  and  that  poor  beggar.  Some  of  us  seem 
to  get  such  precious  long  odds  over  the 
others." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  we  should  do 
our  level  best  to  pull  the  backward  ones  up 
to  us,"  answered  the  American. 

The  words  struck  into  the  ears  of  Dol  — 
that  youngster  listening  with  a  soberness  of 
attention  seldom  seen  in  his  flash-light  eyes. 

A  few  years  afterwards,  when  Neal  Farrar 
was  a  newly  blown  lieutenant  in  his  Queen's 
Twelfth  Lancers,  as  full  of  heroic  impulses 
and  enthusiasms  as  a  modern  young  officer 
may  be,  —  while  his  half-fledged  ambitions 
were  hanging  on  the  chances  of  active  ser 
vice,  and  the  golden,  remote  possibility  of  his 
one  day  being  a  V.  C.,  —  there  was  a  peace 
ful  honor  which  clun^  to  him  unsought. 

o  o 

During  his  first  year  of  army  life,  he  be 
came  the  paragon  of  every  poor  private  and 
raw  recruit  struggling  with  the  miseries  of 
goose-step,  with  whom  he  came  even  into 
momentary  contact.  For  sometimes  through 
a  word  or  act,  sometimes  through  a  flash  of 
the  eye,  or  a  look  about  the  mouth,  during 
the  brief  interchange  of  a  military  salute, 
these  "  backward  ones "  saw  that  the  pro 
gressive  young  officer  looked  on  them,  not 


Brothers    Work.  325 

as  men-machines,  but  as  brothers,  as  impor 
tant  in  the  great  schemes  of  the  nation  and 
the  world  as  he  was  himself;  that  he  was 
proud  to  serve  with  them,  and  would  be 
prouder  still  to  help  them  if  he  could. 

It  was  an  understanding  which  inspired 
many  a  tempted  or  newly  joined  fellow  to 
drill  himself  morally  as  his  sergeant  drilled 
him  physically,  with  a  determination  to  be 
come  as  fine  a  soldier  and  forward  a  man  as 
his  paragon. 

But  only  one  American  friend  of  Lieuten 
ant  Farrar's,  who  has  let  out  the  secret  to 
the  writer,  knows  that  the  binding  truth  of 
human  brotherhood  was  first  born  into  him 
when,  on  Katahdin's  side,  he  helped  to  bury 
a  thieving  half-Indian. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


"  KEEPING   THINGS    EVEN." 


mustn't  be  moping,  boys,  be- 
cause  of  this  day's  work  that  you 
took  a  hand  in,  and  that  wasn't  in  your 
play-bill  when  you  come  to  these  woods. 
We'll  have  to  try  and  even  things  up  to 
morrow  with  some  big  sport.  You  look  kind 
o'  wilted." 

So  said  Herb  when  the  tired  party  were 
half-way  back  to  camp,  doing  the  descent  of 
the  mountain  in  a  silence  clouded  by  the 
scene  which  they  had  been  through. 

The  woodsman  seemed  troubled  with  a  rasp 
ing  in  his  throat.  He  cleared  it  twice  and 
spat  before  he  could  open  a  passage  for  a 

decently  cheerful  voice  in  which  to  suggest 

326 


1  *  Keep  ing  Th  ings  Even . "  327 

a  rise  of  spirits.  But  Herb  was  too  faithful  a 
guide  to  bear  the  thought  that  his  employers' 
trip  should  end  in  any  gloom  because  the 
one  painful  chapter  in  his  own  life  had  closed 
forever.  Moreover,  although  more  than  once, 
as  he  fought  his  way  through  a  jungle  or 
jumped  a  windfall,  something  nipped  his 
heart,  pinching  him  up  inside,  and  making 
his  eyes  leak,  he  felt  that  the  thing  had 
ended  well  for  him  —  and  for  Chris. 

Herb,  in  his  simple  faith,  scarcely  doubted 
that  the  old  chum,  whom  he  had  forgiven, 
had  reached  a  Home- Camp  where  his  broken 
will  and  stunted  life  might  be  repaired,  and 
grow  as  they  had  poor  chance  to  grow  here. 

"  Say,  boys!  "  he  burst  forth,  a  few  minutes 
after  his  protest  against  "  moping,"  and  when 
the  band  were  within  sight  of  the  spring 
whence  they  had  started,  an  age  back,  as  it 
seemed,  on  the  trail  of  the  moose.  "  Say, 
boys  !  I've  been  all  these  years  raging  at 
Chris.  Seems  to  me  now  as  if  he  was  a 
poor  sort  of  overgrowed  baby,  and  not  so 
bad  a  thief  as  the  chump  who  gave  him  that 
whiskey,  and  stole  his  senses.  It's  a  thun 
dering  big  pity  that  man  hadn't  the  burying 
of  him  to-day. 

"  He  was    always    the    under  dog,  —  was 


328  Camp  and  Trail. 

Chris,"  he  went  on  slowly,  as  if  he  was 
seeking  from  his  own  heart  an  excuse  for 
those  unforeseen  impulses  which  had  worked 
it  and  his  body  during  the  past  five  hours. 
"  Whites  and  Injuns  jumped  on  him.  They 
said  he  was  criss-cross  all  through,  same  as 
his  eyes.  But  he  warn't.  Never  seed  a  half- 
breed  that  had  less  gall  and  more  grit,  except 
when  the  hanker  for  whiskey  would  creep  up 
in  him,  and  boss  him.  He  could  no  more 
stand  agen  it,  and  the  things  it  made  him  do, 
than  a  jack-rabbit." 

"  Another  reason  why  we  Americans  ought 
to  feel  our  responsibility  towards  every  man 
in  whose  veins  runs  Indian  blood,  a  thousand 
times  more  hotly  than  we  do !  "  burst  out  Cy 
rus.  "  It  maddens  a  fellow  to  think  that  we 
made  them  the  under  dogs,  and  as  much  by 
giving  them  a  'boss,'  as  you  say,  in  fire-water, 
as  by  anything  else." 

"  I  kind  o'  think  that  way  myself  some 
times,"  said  Herb. 

And  there  was  silence  until  the  guide 
cried  :  — 

"  Here's  our  camp,  boys.  I'll  bet  you're 
glacl  to  see  it.  I  must  get  the  kettle,  and 
cruise  off  for  water.  Tain't  likely  I'll  trust 
one  of  you  fellers  after  last  night.  But  you 


"  Keeping  Things  Even."  329 

can    hustle    round    and    build    the   camp-fire 
while  I'm  gone." 

Herb  had  a  shrewd  motive  in  this.  He 
knew  that  there  is  nothing  which  will  cure 
the  blues  in  a  camper,  if  he  is  touched  by 
that  affliction,  rare  in  forest  life,  like  the  build 
ing  of  his  fire,  watching  the  little  flames  creep 
from  the  dull,  dead  wood,  to  roar  and  soar 
aloft  in  gold-red  pennons  of  good  cheer. 

The  result  proved  his  wisdom.  When  he 
returned  in  a  very  short  time  from  that  ever- 
to-be-famous  spring,  with  his  brimming  kettle, 
he  found  a  glorious  fire,  and  three  tired  but 
cheerful  fellows  watching  it,  its  reflection 
playing  like  a  jack-o'-lantern  in  each  pair  of 
eyes. 

"  Now  I'll  have  supper  ready  in  a  jiffy,"  he 
said.  "  I  guess  you  boys  feel  like  eating  one 
another.  Jerusha !  we  never  touched  our 
snack  —  nary  a  crumb  of  it." 

In  the  strange  happenings  and  chaotic  feel 
ings  of  the  day,  hunger,  together  with  the 
bread  and  pork  for  satisfying  it  which  Herb 
had  carried  up  the  mountain,  were  forgotten 
until  now. 

"  Never  mind  !  We'll  make  up  for  it.  Only 
hurry  up  !  "  pleaded  Dol.  "  We're  like  bears, 
we're  so  hungry." 


33°  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Like  bears !  You're  a  sight  more  like 
calves  with  their  mouths  open,  waiting  for 
something  to  swallow,"  answered  Herb,  his 
eyes  flashing  impudence,  while,  with  an  energy 
apparently  no  less  brisk  than  when  he  started 
out  in  the  morning,  he  rushed  his  prepara 
tions  for  supper. 

"  Say  I'm  like  a  Sukey,  and  I'll  go  for  you  !  " 
roared  Dol,  a  gurgling  laugh  breaking  from 
him,  the  first  which  had  been  heard  since  the 
four  struggled  through  that  tangle  on  Katah- 
din  to  a  sight  of  the  old  camp. 

Once  or  twice  during  supper  the  mirth, 
which  had  been  frozen  in  each  camper's 
breast  by  a  sight  of  the  drifted  wreck  of  a  hu 
man  life,  warmed  again  spasmodically.  Herb 
did  his  manly  best  to  fan  its  flame,  though  his 
heart  was  still  pinched  by  a  feeling  of  double 
loss. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  the  party  were 
huddling  close  to  the  camp-fire,  he  lifted  his 
right  hand  and  looked  at  it  blankly. 

"My!  "  he  gasped,  "  but  it  will  feel  awful 
queer  and  empty  without  Old  Blazes.  That 
rifle  was  a  reg'lar  corker,  boys.  I  was  saving 
up  for  three  years  to  buy  it.  An'  it  never 
went  back  on  me.  Times  when  I've  gone  far 
off  hunting,  and  had  nary  a  chance  to  speak 


"Keeping  Things  Even''  331 

to  a  human  for  weeks,  I'd  get  to  talking  to  it 
like  as  if  'twas  a  living  thing.  When  I  wasn't 
afeard  of  scaring  game,  I'd  fire  a  round  to 
make  it  answer  back  and  drive  away  lone- 
someness.  Folks  might  ha'  thought  I  was 
loony,  only  there  was  none  to  see.  Well,  it's 
smashed  to  chips  now,  'long  with  the  old 
camp." 

"  What  awfully  selfish  jackasses  we  were,  to 
skip  off  with  our  own  rifles,  and  never  think 
of  yours,  or  that  you  couldn't  save  it,  carry 
ing  that  poor  fellow  !  I  feel  like  kicking  my 
self,"  said  Cyrus,  sharp  vexation  in  his  voice. 
"  But  that  slide  business  sprang  on  us  so 
quickly.  The  sudden  rumbling,  rattling,  and 
pounding  jumbled  a  fellow's  wits.  I  scarcely 
understood  what  was  up,  even  when  we  were 
scooting  for  our  lives." 

"  I  felt  a  bit  white-livered  myself,  I  tell  ye  ; 
and  I'm  more  hardened  to  slides  than  you 
are,"  was  the  woodsman's  answer. 

The  confession,  taken  in  the  light  of  his 
conduct,  made  him  doubly  a  hero  to  his  city 
friends. 

They  thought  of  him  staggering  along  the 
mountain,  blinded,  bewildered,  pelted  by  clay, 
with  that  dragging  burden  in  his  arms,  a 
heart  tossed  by  danger's  keenest  realization 


33  2  Camp  and  Trail. 

in  his  breast.  And  they  were  silent  before 
the  high  courage  which  can  recognize  fear, 
yet  refuse  to  it  the  mastery. 

Neal,  whose  secret  musings  were  generally 
crossed  by  a  military  thread,  seeing  that  he 
had  chosen  the  career  of  a  cavalry-soldier, 
and  hoped  soon  to  enter  Sandhurst  College, 
stared  into  the  heart  of  the  camp-fire,  glower 
ing  at  fate,  because  she  had  not  ordained 
that  Herb  should  serve  the  queen  with  him, 
and  wear  upon  his  resolute  heart  —  as  it 
might  reasonably  be  expected  he  would  — 
the  Victoria  Cross. 

Young  Farrar's  feeling  was  so  strong  that 
it  swept  his  lips  at  last. 

-Blow  it  all!  Herb,"  he  cried.  "It's  a 
tearing  pity  that  you  can't  come  into  the 
English  Lancers  with  me.  I  don't  suppose 
I'll  ever  be  a  V.  C.,  but  you  would  sooner  or 
later  as  sure  as  gun's  iron." 

"A  '  V.  C. ! '     What's  that  ?  "  asked  Herb. 

"  A  Vigorous  Christian,  to  be  sure  !  "  put 
in  Cyrus,  who  was  progressive  and  peaceful, 
teasingly. 

But  the  English  boy,  full  of  the  dignity  of 
the  subject  to  him,  summoned  his  best  elo 
quence  to  describe  to  the  American  back 
woodsman  that  little  cross  of  iron,  Victoria's 


' '  Keep  ing  Th  ings  Even . "  333 

guerdon,  which  entitles  its  possessor  to  write 
those  two  notable  letters  after  his  name,  and 
which  only  hero-hearts  may  wear. 

But  a  vision  of  himself,  stripped  of 
"sweater"  and  moccasins,  in  cavalry  rig, 
becrossed  and  beribboned,  serving  under 
another  flag  than  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  was 
too  much  for  Herb's  gravity  and  for  the  grim 
regrets  which  wrung  him  to-night. 

"  Oh,  sugar  !  "  he  gasped ;  and  his  laughter 
was  like  a  rocket  shooting  up  from  his  mighty 
throat,  and  exploding  in  a  hundred  sparkles 
of  merriment. 

He  laughed  long.  He  laughed  insistently. 
His  comrades  were  won  to  join  in. 

When  the  fun  had  subsided,  Garst  said :  — 

"  Herb  Heal,  old  man,  there's  something 
in  you  to-night  which  reminds  me  of  a  line 
I'm  rather  stuck  on." 

"  Let's  have  it !  "  cried  Herb. 

And  Cyrus  quoted  :  — 

"  As  for  this  here  earth, 
It  takes  lots  of  laffin1  to  keep  things  even!" 

"  Now  you've  hit  it !  The  man  that  wrote 
that  had  a  pile  o'  sense.  Come,  boys,  it's 
been  an  awful  full  day.  Let's  turn  in  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  Herb  began  to  replenish  the 


334  Camp  and  Trail. 

fire,  and  make  things  snug"  in  the  camp  for 
the  night. 

But  shortly  after,  when  he  threw  himself 
on  the  spuce-boughs  near  them,  the  boys 
heard  him  murmur,  deep  in  his  throat,  as  if 
he  took  strength  from  the  words:  — 

"It  takes  lots  of  laffin'  to  keep  things  even!" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A    LITTLE    CARIBOU    QUARREL. 

BUT  things  on  this  old  planet  seemed  even 
enough  the  next  day,  when,  after  a 
dozen  hours  of  much  needed  sleep,  the 
campers'  eyes  opened  upon  a  scene  which 
might  have  stirred  any  sluggish  blood  —  and 
they  were  not  sluggards. 

A  fresh  breath  of  frost  was  in  the  air 
to  quicken  circulation  and  hunger.  Under 
a  smiling  sun  an  October  breeze  frolicked 
through  leaves  with  tints  of  fire  and  gold, 
humming,  while  it  swiftly  skimmed  over  their 
beauties,  as  if  it  was  reading  a  wind's  poem 
of  autumn. 

Katahdin  looked  as  though  it  had  suddenly 
taken  on  the  white  crown  of  age,  with  age's 

335 


336  Camp  and  Trail. 

stately  calm.  The  weather  had  grown  colder 
during  the  night.  Summer  —  the  balmy 
Indian  summer,  with  its  late  spells  of  sul 
triness  —  had  taken  a  weeping  departure 
yesterday.  To-day  there  was  no  threatening 
of  rain-storm  or  slide.  The  mountain's  prin 
cipal  peaks  had  fleecy  wraps  of  snow. 

"Ha!  Old  Katahdin  has  put  on  its  night 
cap,"  exclaimed  Cyrus,  when  the  trio  issued 
from  their  tent  in  the  morning.  "  Listen, 
you  fellows  !  This  is  the  2 1  st  of  October. 
I  propose  that  we  start  back  to  our  home- 
camp  to-morrow.  It  will  take  us  two  days 
to  reach  Millinokett  Lake.  Then  we'll  set 
our  faces  towards  civilization  the  first  week 
in  November,  or  thereabouts." 

"  Oh,  bother  it  !  So  soon  !  "  protested 
Dol. 

"  Now,  Young  Rattlebrain,"  —  Garst  took 
the  calm  tone  of  leadership,  —  "please  con 
sider  that  this  is  the  first  time  you've  camped 
out  in  Maine  woods.  You  might  find  it  fun 
to  be  snowed  up  in  camp  during  a  first  fall, 
and  to  tramp  homewards  through  a  thawing 
slush.  But  your  father  wouldn't  relish  its 
effects  on  your  British  constitution.  And 
out  here  —  once  we're  well  into  November — 
there's  no  knowing  when  the  temperature 


A  Little   Caribou   Quarrel.          337 

may  drop  to  zero  with  mighty  short  notice. 
I've  often  turned  in  at  night,  feeling  as  if  I 
were  on  '  India's  coral  strands '  and  woke  up 
next  morning  thinking  I  had  popped  off  in 
my  sleep  to  '  Greenland's  icy  mountains.' 
Herb  Heal !  you  know  what  tricks  a  ther 
mometer,  if  we  had  one,  might  play  in  our 
camp  from  this  out ;  talk  sense  to  these  fel 
lows." 

Herb,  who  had  risen  an  hour  before  his 
charges,  had  already  fetched  fresh  water, 
coaxed  up  the  fire,  and  was  busily  mixing 
flapjacks  for  breakfast.  His  ears,  however, 
had  caught  the  drift  of  the  talk. 

"  Guess  Cyrus  is  right,"  he  said.  "  Seeing 
as  it's  the  first  time  you  Britishers  have  slept 
off  your  spring  mattresses,  I'd  say,  light  out 
for  the  city  and  steam-heat  afore  the  snow 
comes.  Oh  !  you  needn't  get  your  mad  up. 
I  ain't  thinking  you'd  growl  at  being  snowed 
in.  I  know  better. 

"  By  the  great  horn  spoon  !  I  b'lieve  I'll 
go  right  along  to  Greenville  with  you,"  ex 
claimed  the  guide  a  minute  later.  "  I  might 
get  a  chance  to  pick  up  a  bargain  of  a  second 
hand  rifle  there.  And  I  guess  you'd  be 
mighty  sick  o'  your  luck,  Dol,  if  you  had  to 
lug  them  moose-antlers  part  o'  the  way  yer- 


338  Camp  and  Trail. 

self.  I  ain't  stuck  on  carrying  'em  either,  if 
we  can  get  a  jumper." 

But  there  was  a  third  reason,  still  more 
powerful  than  these  two,  why  he  should  make 
a  trip  to  the  distant  town,  which  stirred  Herb's 
mind  while  he  stirred  his  cakes.  His  sturdy 
sense  told  him  that  it  would  be  well  he 
should  put  in  an  appearance  when  Cyrus 
made  a  statement  before  the  Greenville  cor 
oner  as  to  the  cause  and  manner  of  Chris's 
death. 

"  Now,  you  boys,  we  don't  want  no  fooling 
this  blessed  day,"  he  said,  when  breakfast  was 
in  order,  and  the  campers  were  emptying  for 
the  second  time  their  tin  mugs  of  coffee. 
"  There's  sport  before  us  —  tearing  good 
sport.  Whatever  do  you  s'pose  I  come  on 
this  morning  when  I  was  cruising  over  the 
bog  for  water  ?  Caribou-tracks !  Caribou- 
tracks,  as  sure  as  there's  a  caribou  in  Maine! 

"  Who's  for  following  'em  ?  We  hain't  got 
much  provisions  left;  and  I  guess  a  chunk  of 
broiled  caribou-steak  about  as  big  as  a  horse's 
upper  lip  would  cheer  each  of  us  up,  and 
make  us  feel  first-rate.  What  say,  boys  ?  " 

"  By  all  that's  glorious  !  "  ejaculated  Cyrus, 
his  eyes  striking  light.  "  Caribou-signs  !  Of 
course  we'll  follow  them.  A  bit  of  fresh  meat 


A  Little  Caribou   Quarrel.          339 

would  be  pretty  acceptable,  and  a  good  view 
of  a  herd  of  caribou  would  be  still  more  so  — 
to  me,  at  any  rate.  That  would  just  about 
top  off  our  exploring  to  a  T." 

"  We've  got  to  be  mighty  spry,  then,"  said 
the  woodsman,  lurching  to  his  feet,  muscles 
swelling,  and  nostrils  spreading  like  a  sleuth- 
hound's.  "  If  you  want  caribou,  you've  got 
to  take  'em  while  they're  around.  Old  hun 
ters  have  a  saying :  '  They're  here  to-day,  to 
morrow  nowhere.'  And  that's  about  the  size 
of  it." 

"  Let's  start  off  this  minute  !  "  Dol  jerked 
out  the  words  while  he  bolted  the  last  salt 
shreds  of  his  pork.  "  Hurry  up,  you  fellows  ! 
You're  as  slow  as  snails.  I'd  eat  the  jolliest 
meal  that  was  ever  cooked  in  three  minutes." 

"  No  wonder  you  squirm  and  shout  all 
night,  then,  until  sane  people  with  good  di 
gestions  feel  ready  to  blow  your  head  off," 
laughed  Cyrus,  who  was  one  of  the  laggards  ; 
but  he  disposed  of  the  last  mouthfuls  of  his 
own  meal  with  little  regard  for  his  digestive 
canal. 

In  rather  less  than  twenty  minutes  the  four 
were  scanning  with  wide  eyes  certain  fresh 
foot-marks,  plainly  printed  on  a  patch  of  soft 
oozing  clay,  midway  on  the  boggy  tract. 


34-O  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Whew  !  Bless  me  !  Those  caribou- 
tracks  ? "  Cyrus  caught  his  breath  with 
amazement  while  he  crouched  to  examine 
them.  "Why,  they're  bigger  than  any  moose- 
tracks  we've  seen  ! " 

"  Isn't  that  great  ?  "  gasped  Dol. 

"  Well,  come  to  think  of  it,  it  is,"  answered 
the  guide,  in  the  stealthy  tones  of  an  expec 
tant  hunter;  "for  a  full-grown  bull-caribou 
don't  stand  so  high  as  a  full-sized  moose  by 
two  or  three  feet,  and  he  don't  weigh  more'n 
half  as  much.  Still,  for  all  that,  caribou  deer 
beat  every  other  animal  of  the  deer  tribe,  so 
far's  I  know,  in  the  size  of  their  hoofs,  as 
you'll  see  bime-by  if  luck's  with  us  !  And 
my  stars  !  how  they  scud  along  on  them  big 
hoofs.  I'd  back  'em  in  a  race  against  the 
smartest  of  your  city  chaps  that  ever  spun 
through  Maine  on  his  new-fangled  'wheel,' 
that  he's  so  sot  on." 

Garst,  who  was  an  enthusiastic  cyclist,  with 
a  gurgle  of  unbelieving  mirth,  prepared  to 
dispute  this.  There  might  have  ensued  a 
wordy  sparring  about  caribou  versus  bicycle, 
had  not  the  guide  been  impressed  with  the 
necessity  for  prompt  action  at  the  expense  of 
speech. 

"We  must  quit  our  talk  and  get  a  move 


A  Little   Caribou  Quarrel.          341 

on,"  he  whispered,  and  led  the  forward  march 
across  the  bog,  his  eyes  every  now  and  again 
narrowing  into  two  gleaming  slits,  as  if  he 
were  debating  within  himself,  while  he  studied 
the  ground  or  some  bush  which  showed  signs 
of  being  nibbled  or  trampled.  Then  he 
would  sweep  the  horizon  with  long-range 
vision. 

But  not  a  tuft  of  hair  or  glancing  horn  hove 
in  sight. 

The  marsh  was  left  behind.  The  hoof- 
marks  were  lost  in  a  wide  meadowy  sweep  of 
open  ground,  bounded  at  a  distance  by  an 
irregular  line  of  hills,  sparsely  covered  with 
spruce-trees. 

Towards  these  Herb  headed,  leaving  Ka- 
tahclin  away  back  in  the  rear. 

"  'Shaw  !  I'm  afeard  they're  '  nowhere  '  by 
this  time,"  he  whispered,  when  the  hunters 
reached  the  rising  ground,  glancing  at  Dol, 
who  stepped  lightly  beside  him. 

The  boy's  lips  parted  to  breathe  out  com 
pressed  disappointment ;  but  his  answer  was 
lost  in  a  sharp  whirr !  whirr !  and  a  sudden 
flutter  of  wings  above  his  head.  His  eyes 
went  aloft  towards  a  bough  about  eight  feet 
from  the  ground.  So  did  Herb's,  and  lit 
with  a  new,  whimsical  hope. 


342  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  A  spruce  partridge !  "  hissed  the  guide, 
his  voice  thrilling  even  in  its  stealthy  whisper. 
"  That's  luck  —  dead  sure  !  The  Injuns  say, 
'  The  red  eye  never  tells  a  lie  ; '  "  and  the 
woodsman  pointed  out  the  strip  of  bare  red 
skin  above  the  beady  eyes  of  the  bird,  which 
cuddled  itself  on  its  branch,  and  looked  down 
at  them  unfrighted. 

Dol  Farrar,  who  in  this  region  of  moose- 
birds  and  moose-calls  could  believe  in  any 
thing,  felt  both  his  spirits  and  credulity  rise 
together.  He  managed  to  keep  abreast  of 
the  trained  hunter,  as  the  latter,  with  swift, 
stretching,  silent  steps  climbed  the  hill.  And 
he  heard  the  hunter's  sudden  cluck  of  triumph 
as  he  reached  the  top,  and  looked  down  upon 
the  valley  at  the  other  side,  the  inarticulate 
sound  being  followed  by  one  softly  rung 
word,  — 

"  Caribou !  " 

"  Caribou  ?  They  look  awfully  like  quiet 
Alderney  cows,  except  for  the  big  antlers !  " 
The  amazed  exclamation  stirred  the  Eng 
lish  boy's  tongue,  but  he  did  not  make  it 
audible. 

Following  Herb's  example,  he  stretched 
himself  flat  upon  his  stomach  under  a  spruce, 
and  stared  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  at  a 


A  Little  Caribou   Quarrel.          343 

forest  pantomime  which  was  being  acted  in 
the  valley. 

Cautiously  slipping  from  tree  to  tree,  Cyrus 
and  Neal,  who  had  lagged  a  few  steps  be 
hind,  joined  the  leaders,  and  lay  low,  eagerly 
gazing  too. 

On  its  farther  side  the  hill  was  yet  more 
sparsely  covered,  the  scattered  spruces  show 
ing  gaps  between  them  where  the  lumber 
man's  axe  had  made  havoc.  Through  these 
openings,  which  were  as  shafts  of  light  amid 
the  evergreen's  waving  play,  the  hunters  saw 
the  sun  silver  a  brown  pool  in  the  valley.  A 
few  maples  and  birches  waved  their  shrivel 
ling  splendors  of  scarlet  and  buff  at  irregular 
distances  from  the  water.  And  in  and  out 
among  these  trees  moved  in  graceful  wood 
land  frolic  four  or  five  large  animals,  —  per 
haps  more,  —  their  doings  being  plainly  seen 
by  the  watchers  on  the  hill. 

Their  coats,  like  those  of  the  smaller  deer, 
were  of  a  brown  which  seemed  to  have  caught 
its  dye  from  the  autumnal  tints  surrounding 
them.  In  shape  they  justified  Dol's  criticism  ; 
for  they  certainly  were  not  unlike  cows  of  the 
Alderney  breed,  save  for  the  widely  branching 
horns. 

Of  the  strength  of  these  antlers  the  hidden 


344  Camp  and  Trail. 

spectators  got  sudden,  startling  proof,  as  the 
two  largest  caribou  drew  off  from  the  rest, 
and  charged  each  other  in  a  real  or  sham 
fight,  the  battle-clang  of  their  meeting  horns 
sounding  far  away  to  the  hill-top. 

"  Them  two  bulls  are  having  a  big  time  of 
it.  Look  at  'em  now,  with  the  small  one. 
That's  a  stranger  in  the  herd,"  hummed  Herb 
into  the  ear  of  the  boy  next  to  him,  his  voice 
so  light  and  even  that  it  might  have  been  but 
the  murmur  of  a  falling  leaf.  "  It's  an  all- 
fired  pity  that  we're  jest  too  far  off  for  a 
shot." 

The  "  stranger,"  which  the  woodsman's 
long-range  eye  had  singled  out,  was  of  a 
smaller  size  and  paler  color  than  the  other 
caribou ;  and  Herb  —  who  could  interpret  the 
forest  pantomime  far  better  than  he  would 
have  explained  the  acting  of  human  beings 
on  a  stage — told  his  companions  in  whispers 
and  signs  that  it  was  in  distressed  dread  of 
its  company. 

The  attentions  which  the  rest  paid  to  it 
seemed  at  first  only  friendly  and  facetious. 
The  two  big  bulls,  after  trying  their  mettle 
against  each  other  for  a  minute,  separated, 
and  moved  towards  it,  prodded  it  lightly  with 
their  horns,  and  playfully  bit  its  sides,  a  sport 


A  Little  Caribou    Quarrel.          345 

in   which    the    other    members    of  the    herd 
joined. 

"  They're  playing  it,  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse ; 
but  I  guess  they'll  murder  it  in  the  long  run 
if  it's  sickly  or  weak.  Caribou  are  the  big 
gest  bullies  in  these  woods  —  to  each  other," 
whispered  Herb. 

"  By  the  great  horn  spoon  !  they're  doing 
for  it  now,"  he  gasped,  a  minute  later.  "  Sho ! 
...  if  I  only  had  my  old  Winchester  here, 
I'd  soon  stop  their  lynching.  Try  it,  you, 
Cyrus!  You're  a  sure  shot,  an'  you  can  creep 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  'em  without  being 
scented.  Try  it,  man  !  " 

The  guide's  flashing  eyes  and  quick  signs 
conveyed  half  his  meaning ;  his  excited  sen 
tences  were  so  low  that  Garst  only  caught 
fag-ends  of  them.  But  they  were  emphasized 
unexpectedly  by  a  faint  bleating  sound  rising 
from  the  valley,  — the  helpless  bleat  of  a  buf 
feted  creature. 

"  We  want  meat,  and  I'm  going  to  spring 
a  surprise  on  those  bullies,"  muttered  Cyrus, 
setting  his  teeth. 

Still  lying  flat,  he  shot  his  eyes  down  the 
hill-slope,  forming  a  plan  of  descent;  then  he 
lifted  the  rifle  beside  him,  and  jammed  some 
fresh  cartridges  into  the  magazine. 


34-6  Camp  and  Trail. 

Ere  a  dozen  long-  breaths  had  been  drawn, 
he  was  stealthily  moving  towards  the  valley, 
slipping  from  spruce  to  spruce  —  an  arrow- 
like,  unnoticeable  figure  in  his  dark  gray 
tweeds. 

He  was  close  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  when 
the  three  breathless  fellows  above  saw  him 
raise  his  rifle,  just  as  the  unfortunate  little 
caribou,  after  many  efforts  to  escape,  had 
been  beaten  to  its  knees. 

"  He'll  drop  one,  sure  !     He's  a  crack  shot 

—  is    Cyrus  !      There  !     he's    drawing   bead. 
Bravo  !   .   .   .  he's  floored  the  biggest !  " 

Herb's  gusty  breath  blew  the  sentences 
through  his  nostrils,  while  the  sudden,  explo 
sive  bang  of  the  Winchester  cut  through  all 
other  sounds,  and  set  the  air  a-quiver. 

Twice  Cyrus  fired. 

The  largest  bull-caribou  leaped  three  feet 
upward,  wheeled  about,  staggered  to  his 
knees.  A  third  shot  stopped  his  bullying 
forever. 

"  Hurrah !     I  guess  you've  got  the  leader 

—  the  best  of  the  herd.     That  other  bull  was 
a  buster  too  !    You  might  ha'  dropped  him,  if 
you'd  been  in  the  humor ! "  bellowed  the  guide, 
springing    to    his    legs,   and   letting  out    his 
pent-up  wind  in  a  full-blast  roar  of  triumph. 


A  Little  Caribou  Quarrel.          347 

He  well  knew  that  Cyrus,  "  being-  a  queer 
specimen  sportsman,"  and  the  right  sort  after 
all,  would  be  satisfied  with  the  one  inevitable 
deed  of  death. 

As  their  leader  fell,  the  caribou  raised  their 
heads,  stared  in  stiffened  wonder  for  a  few 
seconds,  offering  a  steady  mark  for  the  smok 
ing  rifle  if  it  had  been  in  the  grasp  of  a 
butcher.  Then,  as  though  propelled  by  one 
shock,  they  cut  for  the  wood  at  dazzling 
speed. 

A  minute  —  and  they  were  in  the  distance 
as  tufts  of  hair  blown  before  a  storm-wind. 

The  half-killed  weakling  sought  shelter 
more  slowly  in  another  direction. 

"  Well  done,  Cy  !  " 

"  Congratulations,  old  man  !  " 

"  You've  got  a  trophy  now.  You'll  never 
leave  this  splendid  head  behind.  My  eye, 
what  antlers  !  " 

Such  were  the  exclamations  blown  to 
Garst's  ears  by  the  hot  breath  of  his  English 
friends,  as  they  reached  his  side,  and  stooped 
with  him  to  examine  the  fallen  forest  beauty. 

"  No  ;  I  guess  we  can  manage  to  haul  the 
head  back  to  camp,  with  as  much  meat  as 
we  need.  You'll  have  your  'chunk  of  cari 
bou-steak  as  big  as  a  horse's  upper  lip,'  to- 


348  Camp  and  Trail. 

night,  Herb,  and  bigger  if  you  want  it.  I'm 
tickled  at  getting  the  antlers,  especially  as  I 
didn't  shoot  this  beauty  for  the  sake  of  them. 
I'll  hook  them  on  my  shoulders  when  we  start 
back  to  Millinokett  to-morrow." 

So  answered  the  successful  hunter,  tingling 
with  some  pride  in  the  skill  which,  because 
of  his  reverence  for  all  life,  he  generally  kept 
out  of  sight. 

And  he  stuck  to  his  purpose  about  the 
antlers. 

Cheered  and  invigorated  by  a  sumptuous 
supper  and  breakfast  of  broiled  caribou-steaks, 
supplemented  by  Herb's  lightest  cakes,  and 
carrying  some  of  the  meat  with  them  as  pro 
vision  for  the  way,  the  campers  accomplished 
their  backward  tramp  to  the  log  camp  on 
Millinokett  Lake  in  fulness  of  strength  and 
spirits. 

Once  or  twice  during  the  journey,  when  the 
guide  was  stalking  ahead,  and  thought  him 
self  unnoticed,  the  city  fellows  saw  him  lift 
his  right  hand  and  look  at  it  for  a  full  minute. 
Then  it  swung  heavily  back  to  his  side. 

"  He's  missing  his  rifle,  the  partner  that 
never  went  back  on  him,"  said  Cyrus.  "Say, 
boys  !  I've  got  an  idea  !  " 


A  Little   Caribou   Quarrel.          349 

"  Out  with  it  if  it's  worth  anything,"  grunted 
Dol.  "  I  never  have  ideas  these  days.  Too 
much  doincr.  I  don't  feel  as  if  there  was  a 

o 

steady  peg  in  me  to  hang  one  on." 

"  Oh  !  quit  your  nonsense,  Chick,  and  lis 
ten.  Herb  will  wait  for  us  in  a  few  minutes," 
was  the  Boston  man's  impatient  rejoinder. 

Then  followed  a  low-toned  consultation,  in 
the  course  of  which  such  talk  as  this  was 
heard  :  — 

"  Our  Pater  will  want  to  shell  out  when  he 
hears  about  Chris." 

"  So  will  mine.  He'll  be  for  sending  Herb 
a  cool  five  hundred  or  thousand  dollars,  right 
away.  And,  as  likely  as  not,  Herb  would  feel 
flaring  mad,  and  ready  to  chuck  it  in  his  face. 
He's  not  the  sort  of  fellow  to  stand  being 
paid  by  an  outsider  for  a  plucky  act,  done  in 
the  best  hour  of  his  life." 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  wouldn't  it  be  decenter  to 
manage  the  thing  ourselves,  without  letting 
anybody  who  doesn't  know  him  meddle  in 
it  ? "  This  suggestion  was  in  Dol's  voice. 
"  Neal  and  I  could  draw  our  allowances  for 
three  months  in  advance  ;  the  Pater  will  be 
willing  enough.  We'll  be  precious  hard  up 
without  them,  but  we'll  rub  through  some 
how.  Then  you  can  chip  in  an  even  third, 


35°  Camp  and  Trail. 

Cy,  and  we'll  order  an  A  i  rifle,  —  the  best 
ever  invented,  from  the  best  company  in 
America,  —  silver  plate,  with  his  name,  —  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  I'd  swamp  my  allowance  for 
a  year  to  see  Herb's  face  when  he  gets  it." 

"That's  the  plan  !  You  do  have  occasional 
moments  of  wisdom,  Dol ;  I'll  say  that  much 
for  you,"  commented  the  leader.  "  Well, 
Herb  has  taken  a  special  sort  of  liking  to 
you.  You  may  tip  him  a  hint  to  wait  in 
Greenville  for  a  few  days,  and  not  to  go  look 
ing  for  second-hand  rifles  till  he  hears  from 
us.  Better  not  say  anything  until  we're  just 
parting.  Ten  to  one,  though,  you'll  blurt  the 
whole  thing  out  in  some  harebrained  minute, 
or  give  it  away  in  your  sleep." 

"  Blow  me  if  I  do  !  "  answered  Dol  sol 
emnly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

DOC    AGAIN. 

HERB,  turning  back  at  that  minute  to  wait 
for  his  party,  experienced  a  shock  of 
curiosity  which  was  new  to  him,  at  seeing  the 
three  in  close  counsel,  shouldering  each  other 
upon  a  trail  a  couple  of  feet  wide. 

But  the  sensation  passed.  Dol  for  once 
was  not  guilty  of  an  indiscretion,  waking  or 
sleeping.  The  woodsman  got  no  hint  of 
what  matter  had  been  discussed  until  more 
than  two  weeks  later,  when  he  stood  in  the 
main  street  of  Greenville,  beside  a  tanned, 
muscular,  newly  shaven  trio,  waiting  for  their 
departure  for  Boston. 

A  few  pleasant  days,  marked  by  no  particu 
lar  excitements,  had  been  spent  at  the  log 
351 


35 2  Camp  and  Trail. 

camp  on  Millinokett  after  that  wonderful  trip 
into  the  forests  of  Katahclin.  Then  the  weather 
turned  suddenly  blustering  and  cold ;  and  Cy 
rus,  as  captain,  ordered  an  immediate  forced 
march  to  Greenville. 

Under  Herb's  guidance  that  march  was 
made  with  singularly  few  hardships.  He 
managed  to  hire  a  " jumper"  from  a  new  set 
tler  who  had  a  farm  a  couple  of  miles  from 
their  camp.  This  contrivance  was  a  rough 
sort  of  sled,  formed  of  two  stout  ash  saplings, 
and  hitched  to  a  courageous  horse.  The 
"  jumper's  "  one  merit  was  that  it  could  travel 
along  many  a  rough  trail  where  wheels  would 
be  splintered  at  the  outset.  But  since,  as 
Herb  said,  it  went  at  "  a  succession  of  dead 
jumps,"  no  camper  was  willing  to  trust  his 
bones  to  its  tender  mercies.  However,  it 
answered  admirably  for  carrying  the  tent, 
knapsacks,  and  trophies  of  the  party,  tightly 
strapped  in  place,  including  Neal's  bear-skin, 
which  was  duly  called  for,  and  the  moose- 
antlers,  more  precious  in  Dol's  sight  than  if 
they  had  been  made  of  beaten  gold. 

Thus  the  campers  journeyed  homeward  with 
their  backs  as  light  as  their  spirits,  caring 
little  for  the  chills  of  a  couple  of  nights  spent 
under  canvas  and  rubber  coverings. 


Doc  Again.  353 

Two  gala  evenings  they  had,  —  one  with 
Uncle  Eb  in  his  bark  hut  near  Squaw  Pond, 
where  they  were  regaled  with  a  sumptuous 
supper,  for  "  coons  war  in  eatin'  order  now  ;  " 
and  the  second  with  Doctor  Phil  Buck  at  his 
little  frame  house  near  Moosehead  Lake. 

Dear  old  Doc  was  as  ever  a  power,  —  a 
power  to  welcome,  uplift,  entertain. 

The  campers  sought  him  immediately  on 
their  arrival  at  Greenville ;  and  he  stood  by 
them  while  Cyrus  made  a  full  statement  be 
fore  the  local  coroner  about  the  death  and 
burial  of  the  half-breed,  Chris  Kemp,  the 
Farrars  and  Herb  confirming  what  was  said 
with  due  dignity. 

But  dignity  was  blown  to  the  four  winds 
by  the  very  unprofessional  and  very  woods 
man-like  cheer  that  Doc  raised,  and  that  was 
echoed  thunderously  by  Joe  Flint  and  a  few 
other  guides  and  loungers  who  had  collected 
to  hear  the  story,  when  Cyrus  described  the 
splendid  rush  which  Herb  made,  with  the  dy 
ing  man  in  his  arms,  and  the  clay  of  the  land 
slide  half  smothering  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  wasn't  near  to  try  and  do 
something  for  the  poor  fellow,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  later  on,  when  his  friends  were  gathered 
round  a  blazing  wood-fire  in  his  own  snug 


354  Camp  and  Trail. 

house.  "  But  I  doubt  if  I  could  have  helped 
him.  I  guess  he  was  born  with  the  hankering 
for  whiskey,  and  when  that  is  in  the  mongrel 
blood  of  a  half-breed  it  is  pretty  sure  to  wreck 
him  some  time.  We  must  leave  him  to  God, 
boys,  and  to  changes  larger  than  we  know." 

"  I've  a  letter  for  you,  Neal,"  added  the 
host  presently  in  a  lighter  tone.  "  It  was 
directed  to  my  care.  It  is  from  Philadelphia, 
from  Royal  Sinclair,  I  think." 

Neal  slit  the  envelope  which  was  handed 
to  him,  and  read  the  few  lines  it  contained 
aloud,  with  a  longing  burst  of  laughter. 

Royal  was  as  short  with  his  pen  as  he  was 
dash-away  with  his  tongue.  The  letter  was  a 
brief  but  pressing  invitation  to  Cyrus  and  the 
Farrars  to  visit  their  camping  acquaintances 
of  the  Maine  wilds  at  the  Sinclairs'  home  in 
Philadelphia  before  the  English  boys  re- 
crossed  the  Atlantic. 

"  Come  you  must !  "  wrote  Roy.  "  We've 
promised  to  give  a  big  spread,  and  invite  all 
the  crowd  we  train  with  to  meet  you.  We'll 
have  a  great  old  time,  and  bring  out  our  best 
yarns.  Don't  let  me  catch  you  refusing  !  " 

"  We  won't  if  we  can  help  it,"  commented 
Neal  ;  "  if  only  we  can  coax  the  Pater  to  give 
us  another  week  in  jolly  America." 


Doc  Again.  355 

The  campers  slept  upon  mattresses  that 
night  for  the  first  time  in  many  weeks. 

The  following  morning  saw  them  grouped 
in  the  main  street  of  Greenville,  with  Doc 
and  Herb  on  hand  for  a  final  farewell,  waiting 
for  the  departure  of  the  coach  which  was  to 
bear  them  a  little  part  of  the  way  towards 
Boston  civilization. 

Dol  was  turning  over  in  his  jostled  thoughts 
the  delicate  wording  of  the  hint  which  he  was 
to  convey  to  Herb  about  the  rifle,  when  he 
became  aware  that  Doctor  Phil  was  pinching 
his  shoulder,  and  saying,  while  he  drew  Neal's 
attention  in  the  same  way  :  — 

"  Well,  you  fellows !  I'm  glad  to  have 
known  you.  If  you  ever  come  to  Maine 
again,  remember  that  there's  one  old  forest 
fogy  who'll  have  a  delightful  welcome  for  you 
in  his  house  or  camp,  not  to  speak  of  the 
thing  he  calls  his  heart.  And  I  hope  you'll 
keep  a  pleasant  corner  in  your  memories  for 
our  Pine  Tree  State,  and  for  American  States 
generally,  so  far  as  you've  seen  them." 

Dol  tried  to  answer  ;  but  recalling  the  even 
ing  when,  wrecked  at  heart,  with  stinging 
feet,  he  had  stumbled  at  last  into  the  trail  to 
Doc's  camp,  he  could  only  mutter,  "  Dash  it 
all ! "  and  rub  his  leaking  eyes. 


356  Camp  and  Trail. 

"  Of  course  I'll  think  in  an  hour  from  now 
of  all  the  things  I  want  to  say,"  began  Neal 
helplessly,  and  stopped.  "  But  I'll  tell  you 
how  I  feel,  Doc,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden 
rush  of  breath  :  "  I  think  I  can  never  see  your 
Stars  and  Stripes  again  without  taking  off  my 
hat  to  them,  and  feeling  that  they're  about 
equal  to  my  own  flag." 

"  Neatly  put,  Neal !  I  couldn't  have  done 
it  better,"  laughed  Cyrus. 

"  Shake  !  "  and  Doc  offered  his  hand  in  a 
heart-grip,  while  the  hairs  on  it  bristled. 
"  Boy !  long  life  to  that  feeling.  You  men 
who  are  now  being  hatched  will  show  us  one 
day  what  Young  England  and  Young  Amer 
ica,  as  a  grand  brotherhood  under  comrade 
flags,  can  do  to  give  this  old  earth  a  lift 
which  she  has  never  had  yet  towards  peace 
and  prosperity.  We're  looking  to  you  for 
it!" 

"  Hur-r-r-rup  !  "  cheered  Herb,  subduing 
his  shout  to  the  requirements  of  a  settlement, 
but  sending  his  battered  hat  some  ten  feet 
into  the  air,  and  recovering  it  with  a  dexter 
ous  shoot  of  his  long  arm,  by  way  of  giving 
his  friends  an  inspiring  send-off. 

"Tell  you  what  it  is!"  he  said  suddenly, 
turning  upon  the  Farrars,  "  I  never  guided 


Doc  Again.  357 

Britishers  till  now  ;  but,  wherever  you  sprung 
from,  you're  clean  grit.  If  a  man  is  that,  it 
don't  matter  a  whistle  to  me  what  country 
riz  him." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  with  a  jingle, 
jangle,  lurch,  and  rattle,  the  stage-coach  was 
swaying  its  way  out  of  Greenville.  Dol,  stoop 
ing  from  his  seat  upon  it,  gripped  the  guide's 
hand  in  a  wringing  good-by. 

"  Herb,"  he  said,  "  we  three  fellows  want 
you  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days,  and  not  to 
do  anything  about  a  second-hand  rifle  until 
you  hear  from  us.  Mind  !  " 

And  so  it  happened  that,  ten  days  or  so 
later,  while  the  three  were  enjoying  the  hos 
pitalities  of  the  Sinclairs  and  "their  crowd" 
in  the  Quaker  City,  Herb,  who  was  still  in 
Greenville,  waiting  for  a  fresh  eno-acrement 

o  o     o 

as  guide,  was  accosted  by  the  driver  of  the 
coach  from  Bangor. 

"  Herb  Heal,  here's  a  bully  parcel  for  you," 
said  the  Jehu,  with  a  knowing  grin.  "  Came 
from  Boston,  I  guess.  I  war  booked  to  take 
pertik'lar  care  of  it." 

And  Herb,  feeling  his  strong  finders  tingle, 

o  o  o  o 

undid  many  wrappers,  and  hauled  out,  before 
the  eyes  of  Greenville  loungers,  a  rifle  such 


358  Gamp  and  Trail. 

as  it  is  the  desire  of  every  Maine  woodsman's 
heart  to  possess. 

A  best  grade,  45-90,  half-magazine  Win 
chester  it  was,  fitted  with  shot-gun  stock  and 
Lyman  sights,  and  bearing  a  gleaming  silver 
plate,  on  which  was  prettily  lettered :  — 

HERB    HEAL. 
IN  MEMORY  OF  OCTOBER,  1891. 

Underneath  was  engraved  a  miniature  pine, 
its  trunk  bearing  three  sets  of  initials. 

Herb  stalked  straight  off  a  distance  of  one 
mile  to  Doctor  Buck's  house,  pushed  the  door 
open  as  if  it  had  been  the  door  of  a  wilder 
ness  camp,  and  shot  himself  into  Doc's  little 
study. 

"  Look  what  those  three  gamy  fellows  have 
sent  me,"  he  said  ;  and  his  eyes  were  now  like 
Millinokett  Lake  under  a  full  sun-burst.  "  I 
thought  the  old  one  was  a  corker,  but  this"  — 

Here  the  woodsman's  dictionary  gave  out. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

CHRISTMAS    ON    THE    OTHER    SIDE. 

'"CHRISTMAS,   1893.'      Those  last  two 

^*  figures  are  a  bit  crooked  ;  aren't  they, 
Dol  ? "  said  a  tall,  soldierly  fellow,  who  was 
no  longer  a  boy,  yet  could  scarcely  in  his  own 
country  call  himself  a  man. 

He  read  the  date  critically,  having  fixed  it 
as  the  centre-piece  in  a  festive  arch  of  holly 
and  bunting,  which  spanned  the  hall  of  a 
mansion  in  Victoria  Park,  Manchester. 

"  I  believe  that's  better,"  he  added,  straight 
ening  a  tipsy  "  93,"  and  bounding  from  a 
chair-back  on  which  he  was  perched,  to  step 
quickly  backward,  with  a  something  in  gait 
and  bearing  that  suggested  a  cavalry  swing. 

'"Christmas,  1893,'"  he  read  musingly 
359 


360  Camp  and  Trail. 

again.  "  Goodness !  to  think  it's  two  years 
since  we  laid  eyes  on  old  Cyrus,  and  that  he 
has  landed  on  English  soil  before  this,  may 
be  here  any  minute  —  and  Sinclair  too.  I 
guess" — these  two  words  were  brought  out 
with  a  smile,  as  if  the  speaker  was  putting 
himself  in  touch  with  the  happiness  of  a  by 
gone  time — "I  guess  that  '  Star-Spangled 
Banner'  will  look  home-like  to  them." 

And  Neal  Farrar,  just  back  for  a  short  va 
cation  from  Sandhurst  Military  College,  twice 
gravely  saluted  the  gay  bunting  with  which 
his  Christmas  arch  was  draped,  where  the 
Union  Jack  of  old  England  kissed  the  Amer 
ican  Stars  and  Stripes. 

"  I  say !  "  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  a  tall 
youth,  who  had  been  inspecting  his  opera 
tions,  "  that  Liverpool  train  must  be  beastly 
late,  Dol.  Those  fellows  ought  to  be  here 
before  this.  The  Mater  will  be  in  a  stew. 
She  ordered  dinner  at  five,  as  the  youngsters 
dine  with  us,  of  course,  to-day,  and  it's  past 
that  now." 

"  Hush !  will  you?  I'll  vow  that  cab  is 
stopping !  Yes !  By  all  that's  splendid,  there 
they  are  !  "  and  Dol  Farrar's  joy- whoop  rang 
through  the  English  oaken  hall  with  scarcely 
less  vehemence  than  it  had  rung  in  former 


Christmas  on  the  Other  Side.       361 

days  through  the  dim   aisles   of   the   Maine 
forests. 

A  sound  of  spinning  cab-wheels  abruptly 
stopping,  a  noise  of  men's  feet  on  the  steps 
outside,  and  the  hall-door  was  flung  wide  by 
two  pairs  of  welcoming  hands. 

11  Cyrus  !  Royal !  Got  here  at  last  ?  Oh ! 
but  this  is  jolly." 

"  Neal,  dear  old  boy,  how  goes  it?  Dol, 
you're  a  giant.  I  wouldn't  have  known 
you." 

Such  were  the  most  coherent  of  the  greet 
ings  which  followed,  as  two  visitors,  in  travel 
ling  rig,  their  faces  reddened  by  eight  days 
at  sea  in  midwinter,  crossed  the  threshold. 

There  could  be  no  difficulty  in  recognizing 
Cyrus  Garst's  well-knit  figure  and  specula 
tive  eyes,  though  a  sprouting  beard  changed 
somewhat  the  lower  part  of  his  face.  And  if 
Royal  Sinclair's  tall  shoulders  and  brand-new 
mustache  were  at  all  unfamiliar,  anybody 
who  had  once  heard  the  click  and  hum  of  his 
hasty  tongue  would  scarcely  question  his 
identity. 

The  Americans  had  steamed  over  the  At 
lantic  amid  bluster  of  elements,  purposing 
a  tour  through  southern  France  and  Italy. 
And  they  were  to  take  part,  before  proceed- 


362  Camp  and  Trail. 

ing  to  the  Continent,  in  the  festivities  of  an 
English  Christmas  at  the  Farrars'  home  in 
Manchester. 

"Oh,  but  this  is  jolly!  "  cried  Neal  again, 
his  voice  so  thickened  by  the  joy  of  welcome 
that — embryo  cavalry  man  though  he  was  — 
he  could  bring  out  nothing  more  forceful  than 
the  one  boyish  exclamation. 

Dol's  throat  was  freer.  Sinclair  and  he 
raised  a  regular  tornado  in  the  handsome 
hall.  Questions  and  answers,  only  half  dis 
tinguishable,  blew  between  them,  with  ex 
plosions  of  laughter,  and  a  thunder  of  claps 
on  each  other's  shoulders.  When  their  eale 

o 

was  at  its  noisiest,  Royal's  part  of  it  abruptly 
sank  to  a  dead  calm,  stopped  by  "  an  angel 
unawares." 

A  girl  of  sixteen,  with  hair  like  the  brown 
and  gold  of  a  pheasant's  breast,  opened  a 
drawing-room  door,  stepped  to  Neal's  side, 
and  whispered,  — 

"  Introduce  me  !  " 

"  My  sister,"  said  Neal,  recovering  self- 
possession.  "  Myrtle,  I  believe  I'll  let  you 
guess  for  yourself  which  is  Garst  and  which 
is  Sinclair." 

"  Well,  I've  heard  so  much  about  you  for 
the  past  two  years  that  I  know  you  already, 


Christmas  on  the  Other  Side.       363 

all  but  your  looks.  So  I'm  sure  to  guess 
right,"  said  Myrtle  Farrar,  scrutinizing  the 
Americans  with  a  pretty  welcoming  glance, 
then  giving  to  each  a  glad  hand-shake. 

Royal's  tongue  grew  for  once  less  active 
than  his  eyes,  which  were  so  caught  by  the 
golden  shades  on  the  pheasant-like  head  that 
for  a  minute  he  could  see  nothing  else.  Even 
Cyrus,  who  was  accustomed  to  look  upon 
himself  as  the  cool-blooded  senior  among  his 
band  of  intimates,  tingled  a  little. 

u  You're  just  in  time  for  dinner  —  I'm  so 
glad,"  laughed  Miss  Myrtle.  "  A  Christmas 
dinner  with  a  whole  tribe  of  Farrars,  big  and 
little." 

"  But  our  baggage  hasn't  come  on  yet," 
answered  Garst  ruefully.  "  Will  Mrs.  Farrar 
excuse  our  appearing  in  travelling  rig  ?  " 

"Indeed  she  will!"  answered  for  herself 
a  fair,  motherly-looking  English  woman,  as 
pretty  as  Myrtle  save  for  the  gold-brown 
hair,  while  she  came  a  few  steps  into  the  hall 
to  welcome  her  sons'  friends. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  the  Americans 
found  themselves  seated  at  a  table  garlanded 
•with  red-berried  holly,  trailing  ivy,  and  pearl- 
eyed  mistletoe,  and  surrounded  by  a  round 
dozen  of  Farrars,  including  several  young- 


364  Camp  and  Trail. 

sters  whose  general  place  was  in  school 
room  or  nursery,  but  who,  even  to  a  tot  of 
three,  were  promoted  to  dine  in  splendor  on 
Christmas  Day. 

''Well,  this  is  festive !  "  remarked  Cyrus  to 
Myrtle,  who  sat  next  to  him,  when,  after 
much  preparatory  feasting,  an  English  plum- 
pudding,  wreathed,  decorated,  and  steaming, 
came  upon  the  scene.  Fluttering  amid  the 
almonds  which  studded  its  top  were  two  wee 
pink-stemmed  flags.  And  here  again,  in 
compliment  to  the  newly  arrived  guests,  the 
"  Star-Spangled  Banner  "  kissed  the  English 
Union  Jack. 

"Say,  Neal !  "  exclaimed  Cyrus,  his  eyes 
keenly  bright  as  he  looked  at  the  toy  stan 
dards,  "  wouldn't  this  sort  of  thing  delight 
our  friend  Doc  ?  By  the  way,  that  reminds 
me,  I  have  a  package  for  you  from  him,  and 
a  message  from  Herb  Heal  too.  Herb  wants 
to  know  '  when  those  gamy  Britishers  are 
coming  out  to  hunt  moose  again  ?'  And  Doc 
has  sent  you  a  little  bundle  of  beaver-clip 
pings.  They  are  from  an  ash- tree  two  feet 
in  circumference,  felled  by  that  beaver  colony 
which  we  came  across  near  the  brulee  where 
you  shot  your  bear  and  covered  yourself  with 
glory.  Doc  asked  you  to  put  the  wood  in 


Christmas  on  the  Other  Side.        365 

sight  on  Christmas  Night,  and  to  think  of 
the  Maine  woods." 

''Think  of  them! "  Neal  ejaculated.  "  Bless 
the  dear  old  brick !  does  he  think  we  could 
etfer  forget  them  and  the  stunning  times  we 
had  in  camp  and  on  trail  ?  " 


M312908 


